


Loyalty

by Johannas_Motivational_Insults



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 260,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannas_Motivational_Insults/pseuds/Johannas_Motivational_Insults
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly-minted Peacekeeper Johanna Mason is assigned to District 12 and meets a coworker and a young hunter who together will cause her to question her worldview and her allegiance to the Capitol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This will all become evident in the first chapter, but to save any confusion early on, the story begins pre-canon and Johanna Mason is younger than in canon and originates from District 2. There will be eventual Joniss.
> 
> Warning: There will be some potentially triggering material in this fic, mostly involving violence and morally iffy ground where relationships are concerned. To avoid spoilers, I won't go into any further details.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games series or any of the characters.

A slight shuddering of the train car rouses me from my light slumber and I groan as I try to get my bearings. Once I get them, I wish I hadn’t. I’d pretend I’m en route to the Capitol on the legendary tribute train, but the faint squealing of the wheels beneath me and the dankness of the sleeping compartment make that impossible before I even open my eyes. Nope. This is the first day of my new life, all right, but not at all in the way I’d been planning. I open my eyes.

The cabin is dimly lit even with the lights turned off, so it must be shortly after dawn on Sunday morning. But at this time of year, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s early. I’d check on the time if I actually cared. I boarded this train in District 11 yesterday with the most minimal of pleasantries to my comrades supervising the miners returning from their coal transport assignment, and I’m in no more of a mood to socialize over breakfast. I roll over with another audible groan and squeeze my eyes shut again. It’s not long before I’m disturbed by an insistent rapping on my door. It’s probably that bossy bitch again. Purnia, I think.

“Johanna!” A female voice barks. Yep, that’s her. “Mason, get up and get your suit on! We’re five minutes out!”

I’m not particularly enthused. Being assigned to Twelve was just the latest in a long series of misfortunes I’ve been experiencing over the past few months. It’s the shittiest posting there is, nothing like the plum assignments in the Capitol or my home district. I guess I earned it with my terrific attitude during Peacekeeper training, but who could blame me after all the bullshit I’d just gone through? I close my eyes once more and picture myself lodging an axe in Clove’s face. It only makes me feel marginally better, but gives me enough energy to roll off the bed and onto my feet.

When I step out into the chilly November air several minutes later, I inhale deeply and immediately balk at the scent hanging heavily in the air. What the fuck is that? Nothing like the pure mountain air I’m used to. I spit out whatever saliva is in my mouth and now tinged with the nasty odor. A hearty laugh sounds behind me and I wheel to face whoever is finding amusement in my discomfort. It’s that big redhead, Darian or whatever.

“You’ll get used to the smell,” he chortles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jo, it’s actually the worst thing about this posting. You’ll come to like it here, in time.”

“It’s Johanna,” I tell him icily.

He just grins wider. “I’ma call you Jo,” he proclaims with a light punch to my shoulder. “Try to keep your sense of humor, Mason. You’re going to need it.”

“What do you mean?” I inquire despite my irritation.

“It can be a depressing place to land if you come from somewhere richer. So, anywhere else, really. You’ll see a lot of things here you never expected to see.” I look up at him quizzically to find his face uncharacteristically serious. “The rampant poverty can be pretty sobering. We call it ‘culture shock.’”

“Okay,” I mumble, unconvinced.

“You’ll understand when I show you the town later,” he assures me. “I’m your designated tour guide.”

“Actually?” 

“Sort of,” he shrugs. “I’m on your shift and live next door to you, so I was the natural choice to show you around the barracks and escort you to your entry meeting with Cray.”

I toss my bags into the cargo hold of one of the hummers driving the workers to the mines, then we hop onto the side and hitch a ride for a minute or two before our vehicle stops. The redhead hops down and motions for me to do the same, opens the hold and takes the heavier of my two bags despite my weak objections. I have my pride but I’m exhausted because I also have a recent history of sleep deprivation. And a mild hangover. He bangs on the side of the hummer and it takes off, leaving us to continue to the west on foot down a side road. The path is a touch icy but it’s obviously been recently cleared what with the dirty ten-inch drifts piled up on either side. There’s maybe three inches of powder on the grass surrounding us, a far cry from what I’m accustomed to in the mountains.

We reach our destination in just a couple of minutes and Darian directs me to the north end of the building, where I round the corner and am faced with a door with a large M over it. He swipes a key card and the door clicks unlocked with a buzz. “These open every door to the building as well as the owner’s quarters,” he informs me, indicating the card. “You’ll get one at your entry meeting. We’ll just stash your stuff in mine for now so it’s secure, okay?” We weave through a couple of short hallways to a door marked M8.

To say I’m unimpressed with the living quarters would be a massive understatement. I have no idea what they’re like in other districts, to be fair, but my immediate impulse is to curse this outpost when the door swings open and I see that the room is maybe 8 x10 feet. It has a twin bed tucked into the far right corner, a small dresser along the wall at its foot and a hanging rack bolted to the front wall of the room. The far left corner contains a desk with a short built-in bookshelf continuing along the wall towards me. A tiny bedside table rounds out the furniture and sits below a window in the wall opposite us. The boy forges ahead into his room and tosses his own overnight bag onto the bed before gently setting my overstuffed duffel bag down at its foot.

“They’re all the same, except lots of rooms don’t have windows,” he tells me as he drops into a sitting position on his bed. “We’re some of the lucky ones.”

“Be still my heart,” I wisecrack, dumping my remaining bag next to the other one as I join him in his limited space.

Darian smiles knowingly and points at the window. “See for yourself.” I follow his directive and pull back the curtains, and I immediately understand. His west-facing window has a direct view of the forest beyond the high chain-link fence marking the district boundary. All green and white and beautiful. I don’t ask permission before unlatching the window and cracking it open, immediately enjoying the cool breeze and occasional birdcall that can now waft into the room. “What did I tell you?”

I almost manage to smile. “It’s beautiful,” I admit.

“You have the same view. You’re in M7, to my right.” I nod blankly, continuing to stare out the window. I barely hear him say, “Fence is supposed to be electrified but pretty much never is. If it was, our showers would be cold. We hardly get any electricity out here.” I only turn my head when a scraping ruckus behind me disrupts my tranquil moment. The boy has dragged a storage trunk out from the hollow beneath his bed. “You get one of these as well, for your personal effects.” He gazes up at me for a moment, chewing on his lip. “It might seem lonely here at first, but the undercrowding is actually a good thing. There’s supposed to be ten of us sharing each communal bathroom, but even with you we only have seven in ours. Each of the three wings is supposed to hold forty Peacekeepers, but we have maybe eighty here now in total.” He shrugs. “We don’t need more than that, though. Twenty at night and thirty for mornings and afternoons is just fine around here.” I still say nothing and he scratches his scalp through the messy locks behind his ear. “Uh, any questions?”

“If I had any, it’s not like I could get a word in edgewise,” I remark.

“My apologies,” he replies with just a hint of sarcasm. A corner of my mouth quirks upwards.

“Is our whole wing morning people, then?” I ask after a moment of reflection. “Hence ‘M wing’?”

He smirks and nods. “And they say Peacekeepers are all dumb fucks,” he muses, clearly impressed. I snort in amusement. “They do that to keep the noise disturbances to a minimum. Let us all get a decent sleep.”

“God knows I could use that,” I mutter.

“I can’t promise you I’m a quiet neighbor, but I go to bed at a decent time.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards my room. “Thena, on the other side of you, she’s like a mouse. Barely hear a peep out of her.” He suddenly grins. “Unless she has a guy over.”

An ironic chuckle bursts from my lips. “Awesome, free spank bank material,” I quip.

Darian narrows his eyes as though to ascertain whether I’m joking or not, but he still laughs. “I think I like you, Mason. You’re funny.”

We exit the front door of the barracks maybe ten minutes later after a brief excursion to the common area where the three wings come together. It’s mostly comprised of meeting rooms, a kitchen, and a large recreation hall known as the Commune. We walk the two minutes back to the main road and then head north, away from the train station. It turns out the Head Peacekeeper’s house is on the southwest edge of town, only a few minutes on foot from our living quarters. It takes us a little longer because we detour along the road instead of taking the shortcut nearer to the fence.

My companion ascends the few steps to the front door and knocks heartily. We hear a muffled command to come in just as I catch up, so he opens the door and ushers me into a small office bordering the foyer.

“Commander Cray, Agent Johanna Mason,” he introduces me. I approach and size up the man behind the desk as he stands to greet me. He’s a grandfatherly man of at least sixty, all white hair and warm smiles.

“Agent Mason, welcome to District Twelve.” He extends a friendly hand. When I reach out to meet it, he clasps mine and gives it one firm shake before reciprocating the introduction. “I’m Commander Cray, head of the Peacekeeping Corps for this outpost.”

“And for the whole district, I understand?” I ask as he resumes his sitting position.

“Correct. Twelve is small in size as well as population, so only one outpost is necessary. Our force here is also small, but nonetheless I doubt you will work directly under me very often.” I almost crack a crude joke out of habit but settle for a snicker under my breath. The younger man beside me eyes me up with his peripheral vision and smirks, but thankfully it seems to have gone over Cray’s head. I wouldn’t want to scandalize the sweet old bastard and give him a stroke. “As a member of the morning shift, your commanding officer will most often be Captain Stark. I assume you met her on the train in.”

I stare blankly until Darian clarifies, “Purnia.” Oh, well that explains a lot. No one on the train had bothered to tell me she was an officer.

“Ah, yes, of course,” I reply.

“Good.” The old man shuffles some papers on his desk, plucks one out of the pile and holds it at a calculated distance to bring its content into focus. “Seems you can retire to the barracks at your leisure after this meeting, Mason,” he smiles after a moment of squinting. “Your regular days off are scheduled to be Sunday and Wednesday, with the exceptions of cross-district assignments and special occasions when we need to be out in full force, such as emergencies and the yearly reaping.” My eye twitches at the reminder of how my plans for that day have changed so dramatically, but I nod my understanding. “Morning shift reports at 5:45 AM sharp in the briefing room and is relieved by the afternoon shift at 2 PM.” He looks at Darian briefly before asking me, “I assume Agent Hallett pointed it out to you during your tour of the barracks?”

“Yes, sir,” we answer in unison. Creepy. I’m turning into one of these drones already. Hallett is released to his regular duties before long but tells me to meet him by the Justice Building after I’ve finished my paperwork and Cray has dismissed me.

The Justice Building is of course easily identifiable by its size, but I discover my tour guide is as well when I finish the short trip to the town square some time later. Though his half-visored helmet covers his telltale red locks, his height gives him away even from a distance. I suppose he’s not much taller than your average man, actually, but at my height most people seem tall. He spots me approaching him and raises a hand in greeting, stepping away from the other two Peacekeepers in front of the stone stage.

“Hello, Jo,” he grins when I get closer. I decide to let that roll off my back because I can tell he’s just calling me that to annoy me.

“So no more ‘Agent Mason?’ Does anyone go by their last names around here, _Hallett_?”

“Mostly just around Cray. And even he doesn’t care much about formalities.” I narrow my eyes dubiously and Darian elaborates, “He seems that way when you meet him, but he lets down the act pretty quickly once he gets used to you. You’ll come to find he’s really lax and usually friendly. Sometimes too friendly.”

“Yeah,” I snort, “he seems like kind of a pussy, frankly.” The redhead raises an eyebrow and I backpedal, “But I guess I can’t complain that our first meeting was pleasant.”

“You should hope all your meetings are,” he advises me. “Cray seems nice but he also has a temper. And a drinking problem. Those are among his many vices.”

“Duly noted.” I turn around to survey the square and let out an enormous yawn, stretching my arms above my head.

Hallett steps up beside me and looks on amusedly. “You get used to the early start,” he promises me. “And there’s coffee in the Commune.”

“It’s cool, I’m a morning person anyway.” Off his unconvinced expression, I explain, “I’ve just been sleep deprived lately. And I’m not usually _that_ much of a morning person, but I’d still rather that than work until ten.”

“Six to two is usually better timing if you want to trade at the Hob, anyway.” I’m about to ask him what he means when he suddenly asks me, “You haven’t eaten yet today, have you?” When I shake my head no, he starts off towards a row of shops to the side of the square and beckons me to follow. He gestures around the square as we walk and informs me, “This is where the ‘rich people’ live around here.” He must catch my unimpressed disposition as I survey the decrepit town center because he snorts, “Yeah. They baby us in Two. I told you, culture shock. Just wait ‘til you see the Seam. That’s the slums of the district.” My companion exchanges smiles and nods with several locals as we make our way to the shops, concluding our journey at a bakery. 

“It’s mostly merchants that live in the actual square, above their shops, but the rest of the town is well off too, by District 12 standards,” he explains before pushing open the door. The overwhelming warm and sweet smell of bread engulfs me and sets my stomach growling before I can even follow him inside. 

“You can just abandon your post to go shopping?” I ask incredulously. “It really is lax around here, isn’t it?”

“I’m on square duty,” he grins mischievously. “I’m still in the square, aren’t I?” His smile almost draws one onto my lips. On a better day, it might. He exudes a certain boyish charm that I find simultaneously comforting and entertaining. And fucking annoying.

“What do you want?” he asks suddenly. I blink myself back to the moment and try to respond verbally, but he just smirks and clarifies, “I mean in terms of baked goods.”

“Oh.” I glance over at the product displays briefly but then protest, “No, you don’t have to buy me anything, dude-”

“I insist. My treat.” I raise my eyebrows combatively, but he just shakes his head and orders a half dozen of something I can’t pronounce from the blond young man behind the counter. He pulls one from the package before shaking the bag in front of my face as we step back outside. I take a grateful bite out of one of the fluffy crescent-shaped pastries and can’t help the sound of pleasure that comes out of my mouth. “Delicious, huh?” he asks amusedly. I nod and grab another pastry before he can pull the bag away, resulting in another jovial laugh from the fellow. He’s just starting on his second one when he elbows me and points out a young blond girl across the square.

“That kid’s a rarity,” he says. I give him a curious look, so he asks me, “Did you notice anything different about the baker’s kid and most of people you see around the square, in comparison to the miners from the train?”

“Their clothes,” I answer instantly. “You can tell who’s poor and who’s dirt poor.”

Hallett chuckles, “Okay, but what if they weren’t wearing clothes?” I morph my face into one of mock horror and he rephrases, “Like, if they were all wearing the same clothes, could you still tell the difference?” I try to recall the men and women on the train that I barely paid any attention to. I take another look at the girl in the ratty clothes that don’t match her joyful smile and try to determine what else doesn’t fit. It takes me a moment, but I get it.

“The merchant class is blond,” I surmise. “Or mostly, anyway. Their hair is lighter. And they have lighter skin.”

“Bingo.” He thumbs over his shoulder at the bakery and comments, “That guy and his two little brothers, all blond.” He nods toward the peppy girl with the two blond braids and the platter of cheese for trade and continues, “She lives in the Seam, has a townie mother and a Seam father. Or had, I should say. Father died in a mine explosion some four years ago. I wasn’t here yet, but that’s the story.”

“So you know the kid,” I probe.

“Kind of. I know her sister.” He takes another bite and notes through the flakey mouthful, “Sister looks Seam, though. Dark hair and skin, gray eyes. You wouldn’t know they’re related.” He swallows before turning and grinning at me. “I swear to god, I’m the only redhead in the whole district.”

“Well aren’t you so fucking special, mister know-it-all?” I drawl.

“Yes ma’am, I definitely am,” he chuckles. “I’m a rare find.” He tosses me the bag with the two remaining pastries as he walks back towards the Justice Building and says, “Keep ‘em. I just wanted a mid-morning snack.” He licks his fingers and adds, “Bakery is the best thing about this place.”

This reminds me of our first conversation this morning, so when I catch up I ask him, “So tell me, why exactly am I going to like it here? These are good, but if they’re the highlight of my existence for the next twenty years I’m not gonna be impressed.”

“It’s a good vibe,” he muses after a moment of thought, “in the Corps and with the locals.” He catches my eye and smiles, “It’s peaceful here. Nobody really causes any trouble, we just get to patrol around and then go home. No need to engage in any violence.”

Oh, how perfect. My fucking dream job.

***

The only two thoughts I can manage right now aside from how much I want to kill Clove are “how did I get here?” and “this fucking sucks.” I flopped down on the lumpy bed in my tiny room in the shitty barracks maybe half an hour ago and haven’t bothered trying to move since. Things haven’t felt this bleak since I enlisted with the Peacekeepers early last month. It’s been a whirlwind six weeks of training since then, during which I could lose myself in the drills and studying for the written exam. Even when I was riding the trains here it wasn’t so depressing, because at least I was in transit and didn’t yet have to face what has become of my life. But now I’m settled in and there’s nothing else to distract me from my thoughts.

My dreams are gone. They were annihilated along with my chances of being selected as the designated volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games, all thanks to that traitorous bitch. Years of sweat and planning and political networking wasted. Some people say they wish they could get a blank slate and start all over, but it’s overrated. When I realized I’d gone from frontrunner for DV to a pariah with no future in the Games, I was at a total loss as to how to rebuild my life. I had no idea what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be outside of the Games. I’d never considered what I might want to do for a living until then because I hadn’t seen any reason to. I’d planned to be either a victor or dead.

When you train for over half your life to do one job and then lose the opportunity to do it, you hardly know what to do with yourself. Peacekeeping was the most fitting profession for my skill set, so it seemed like the natural choice. I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to work in Central Defense, not because I’m dumb but because I’d never cared much about school. Why would I? I’d probably have ended up stonecutting if I’d stayed in Two, and that sounded like the most boring job imaginable. So I made the choice to abandon my schooling and opt out of my final year of the reaping to enlist with the Peacekeepers. I was recently eighteen and I wasn’t about to wait an extra nine months to start my twenty-year career that ended with a livable pension when there was such a miniscule chance that I’d be reaped naturally. I could refuse to let the designated volunteer take my place in that scenario, but the odds weren’t in my favor.

It’s too depressing in here and I have to get out. Do something, try to think about something else. Go hang out in the square again or explore my new home. Home. That’s laughable. I get up and start collecting the pieces of my armor that I tossed haphazardly around the room upon entry. We don’t have to wear armor or the standard uniform when off duty, but we’re not allowed to carry a weapon unless we’re suited up. And I’m not gonna lie, I like the power trip. The white, silver, and black off-duty clothing we’re supposed to wear outside the barracks still delineates members of the force, but there’s something about armor and a gun that feels intimidating and official.

I round the corner from the M wing door and squint into the painful glare reflecting off the snow. It’s getting close to noon but the winter sun is still low in the sky and blinding me even without the reflection off the white powder. Maybe someone in town sells sunglasses. Probably not. Who around here could afford them? I should have thought to bring some with me. I might as well check, though; it gives me an excuse to wander into town, and I have time to kill.

I start heading for the road, but I’m suddenly distracted by some birds singing somewhere behind me. I backtrack around the corner of the barracks and the forest comes into view, followed shortly by two of the creatures flying out of a nearby tree and landing on the fence. I smile wryly. These little guys can just come and go as they please. They’re not hemmed in here like cattle. Lucky bastards. I never minded being held within the confines of Two, especially since my village was nowhere near the border and it didn’t affect me, but I’m sure I’m going to go stir-crazy in this hellhole. I approach the birds’ perch and they titter nervously before taking off over my head and towards Cray’s house. I turn to watch their departure, and am about to head back to the road when something farther down the fence catches my eye.

Is that-? No way. I cautiously approach what looks to be a gap in the fence some thirty yards away. When I get close and confirm that that’s indeed what it is, I check over my shoulder for any witnesses. I’m still very much within sight of the barracks, but I don’t see anyone so I decide to take a chance. I’ve never been much of one for following rules, anyway. On second thought, maybe Peacekeeping wasn’t the best profession for me after all. I squat down to take a look at the hole in the chain-link. It’s probably just big enough for me to squeeze through in my bulletproof vest, so I’m grateful we don’t have to wear that awful heavy tactical armor here like they do in some districts. I grab at the edge of the hole to widen it and toss my helmet through, and get a very pleasant surprise when a small section of fencing peels away from the thin metal post it should be attached to. I actually laugh out loud. I can fucking walk through this fence no problem. I take another look back at the barracks. So close to it, I have to wonder if I’m the only Peacekeeper who’s ever gotten cabin fever. I make a mental note to ask Darian later. He seems chill enough to be forthright about that sort of thing.

It’s fucking gorgeous out here. It still smells bad close to the fence, but as I venture farther into the woods it starts to smell more like trees and snow. More like home. The trees are undoubtedly a different species here, but it smells like nature and not industry, in any case. I wander for maybe five or ten minutes through the evergreen forest and eventually find myself smiling at a rabbit skittering along a fallen trunk and down into the snow, leaving adorable little tracks in its wake. I don’t know when the last time was that I genuinely smiled. Sometime before Clove turned on me, that’s for sure.

I would consider heading back already if it weren’t for my clear tracks in the eight inches of snow that’s piled up in the forest, much more than what remains in the town itself. I don’t have to worry about getting lost out here. I would probably still be able to track my own path without obvious footprints because I learned a bit about tracking in preparation for my Games, but I still wouldn’t want to risk getting lost in the forest on my first day in a new district. What an auspicious beginning that would be. I’ve started to move my eyes from my own trail of footprints back to the path of sorts in front of me when they detect a scuffed up area of snow several yards to my left. I follow it with my eyes to its terminus, a tree a short distance away. I smile even wider, a familiar predatory urge rising up in me that I haven’t felt it in far too long. No animal leaves tracks like that. I start to approach the tree, examining it closer, and easily make out the gaps in the snow settled on the lower branches where it has been compacted by a human hand or foot. I strut the remaining distance to the tree and cock my gun, aiming it up into the branches.

“How about you come down before I shoot you down?” I bellow pompously. When there’s no response, I shrug and click my safety off. “Suit yourself.”

“Okay, okay!” a voice rings down from above me. It’s deep but feminine. I watch as a young woman in a leather jacket, tattered pants, and hunting boots emerges from the foliage. I grin when I spot the bag slung over her shoulder and the bow and quiver strapped to her back. A poacher. Maybe I’ll get to engage in some violence after all. She drops to the ground a few feet in front of me and I go to twist her arm behind her back and pin her to the tree, but then she turns around. She’s younger than I’d assumed. Maybe sixteen, if even that. It almost makes me want to be merciful. Her stunning good looks probably contribute to that same impulse. She’s a few inches taller than me but skinny as fuck, though her telltale Seam features explain that. Dark brown hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, olive-toned skin, stormy gray eyes. I blink and try to regain my focus.

“What’s in the bag, huh?” I demand, taking a menacing step forward. She doesn’t resist me when I slide the bag down her arm and peek inside to see three dead rabbits. “Don’t you know what happens to people who poach off the Capitol’s land, little girl?” I drawl condescendingly.

“Little?” she asks, pointedly looking down at me.

I don’t feel like being merciful after all. I drop the bag and grab her wrist in a flash and slam her against the tree in the position I’d been planning to only a moment ago. “Oh, so you’re a poacher _and_ a smartass?” I challenge her, rubbing her face into the bark. She struggles to free her arm but I twist it farther behind her back until she yelps in pain. “What was that?” I snarl.

“Please,” she pants, “stop.” I smirk in satisfaction and pull away from the tree, keeping an iron grip on her wrist as she spins to face me again. “Look,” she petitions, “you’re making a big mistake.”

“Am I?” I laugh. “Says the girl who’s out in the woods committing a capital offense.”

“Well why are you out here?” she asks me accusingly.

“I’m on patrol,” I lie, and she outright laughs in my face.

“Yeah, and I’m just out for a walk,” she mocks me, pointing at the game bag with her free hand.

“You’d better check your attitude, kid,” I growl, tightening my fist. She grimaces and her eyes turn pleading. I can’t help but relax my grip in response, but still say, “Or I won’t even wait until we’re back in town to blow your brains out.”

“Look, just take me to Cray,” she begs. “He’ll explain.”

“A criminal begging to be taken to the Head Peacekeeper for judgment?” I interject, astounded. I release her and size her up. “Huh. That’s something I never expected to see.”

“You must be new,” she mutters, rubbing her wrist. “You’ll probably see a lot of things you never expected to around here.”

“Yeah, that’s what Darian said.”

The girl’s brow knits in confusion. “Darian?” she asks. “Who’s Darian?”

I shrug and answer, “Peacekeeper who was on my train in. Tall dude, carrot top.”

“You mean Darius,” she says assuredly.

“What?”

“His name is Darius,” she repeats, more forcefully this time.

“How the hell do you know his name?” I demand incredulously, hoping my embarrassment is not too apparent. I gesture at her scrawny build. “What, are you blowing him for bread crumbs or something?” The girl’s face reddens and she opens her mouth to say something, but then snaps it shut and just glowers at me indignantly. “Yeah. That’s right,” I smirk, stepping closer. “Lesson one, learn to keep your mouth shut.” I grab her by the lapel of her jacket and pull her past me, back in the direction I came from. I hook her bag back over her shoulder and nudge her in the back with the barrel of my gun in a silent order to get moving. “Except for Peacekeepers with bread crumbs,” I add snarkily.

My extensive combat training pays great dividends when the kid unexpectedly whips around and takes a swing at my face. I’m completely caught off guard but my reflexes kick in and I get my left elbow up to block the blow. I release my gun with that hand and loop it around her neck, trapping her in a headlock before she can even blink. When she grabs at my arm and tries to wriggle out of my grip, I kick her just below the back of her knee and give her a shove from behind, forcing her down into the snow. By the time she rolls onto her back, I have the gun trained squarely on her head.

“Wow, you’re really fucking brainless, aren’t you?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. “You want to give me even more reasons to shoot you?”

“I would never do something like that,” she spits furiously. “I’d starve first. I’d rather lose my life than my pride.”

“Oh, good. You’re well on your way.” I continue to cock my weapon threateningly but honestly have no plans to pull the trigger. This girl is driving me nuts, but despite all my talk I don’t actually want to kill her. But I do want to show her who’s boss. If I let her off the hook, she’ll walk all over me for the next twenty years. “Give me your boots,” I order her harshly. She just stares up at me unblinkingly. “Did I stutter?” I taunt mockingly. Her eyes narrow in confusion or anger, possibly both. She sits up and loosens her laces, pulls the boots off and tosses them at my feet. I gesture at her stocking feet that she’s keeping elevated above the snow. “Socks.” She shoots me this look of exasperated disbelief and I pointedly click my safety on and off. “Socks,” I repeat.

“Fine.” She peels them off, balls them up and arcs the bundle up in the air for me to catch. “Anything else?” she asks with just slightly exaggerated subservience. Enough to piss me off but not enough for me to legitimately be able to say she was resisting. I consider making her take even more clothing off for continuing to give me attitude, but that’s fucked up, even for me. Instead I just bend down and pick up her boots.

“Let’s go,” I order with gesture of my gun towards my path of footprints. She gets to her feet and starts trudging through the powder.

We are within sight of the fence when she turns around and says, “I can’t take these into the district,” pointing at the weapons on her back. She’s resolutely constraining her features in an indifferent mask, but I detect tears pooling in her eyes and already noticed the conspicuous quaking of her legs several minutes ago. Her lips have started to quiver now too. I almost feel bad. I only realize I’ve been staring for awhile when she rolls her eyes and reaches over her shoulder to grab the bow. I shake my head to snap myself out of it.

“What, you just leave your weapons out in the woods?” I query. She nods. I guess that makes sense. Walking around armed is an invitation for a bullet, at least in a place like this. In Two, we could get away with it to some extent as long as we were young enough to be reaped. The Peacekeepers there always turn a blind eye to our illegal training. Why wouldn’t they? Most of them are from Two anyway. I’m about to give her permission to stow them somewhere when I realize that that would somewhat negate my story. She could claim she just found the rabbits somewhere, and if she knows Cray like she says she does, he might be more inclined to believe her than a brand new Peacekeeper. Probably not, but who knows? “You think I’m gonna let you hide half the evidence?” I snarl. “How stupid do you think I am?” She opens her mouth but then thinks better of answering that question. “Wise choice,” I tell her.

When we’re back inside the district boundary, she heads straight for Cray’s house like she’s a regular visitor. Maybe she is. I catch up and then start to break for the street when we get close, but she quickly speaks up. “Back door,” she says. “Trust me.”

“Why?” I argue, mostly just because I’m not taking unexplained orders from this little shit.

“Because Cray will be really angry if anyone sees me carrying these,” she explains through chattering teeth, lifting her bow to indicate it. “And if your Peacekeeper friends see you hauling me in to see him, you’ll never live it down.” I’m actually really starting to get nervous now. Either this kid is totally full of herself or I’m making a mistake. But at least it’s an honest mistake, if so. Who can blame a new Peacekeeper for upholding the law? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?

I join her on the back steps of the Head Peacekeeper’s house and rap loudly on the door. I grasp her right upper arm tightly as I hear footsteps approaching, and when the door swings inward I smirk proudly and point at my captive. I glance over at her to see her cocking an expectant eyebrow at my boss and looking far too comfortable in this situation, in my opinion. I uneasily turn to look at Cray again, who rubs his brow and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Terrific,” he mutters unenthusiastically. He waves us inside and says, “Miss Everdeen, I see you’ve made the acquaintance of the newest member of our force.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she grumbles.

“You’re lucky you’re still alive,” he chastises her. “You know better than to bring your weapons into the district.”

“She made me. ‘For evidence,’” the girl snarks in explanation.

“She found you in the forest?” He turns to me and pries bewilderedly, “What were you doing out there?”

“She was on patrol,” Everdeen wisecracks smugly. I’d like to punch her. But this isn’t like when we met fifteen minutes ago; I get the feeling I would get in trouble if I did now. Something about her demeanor and how Cray interacts with her makes me feel small and out of place, like I’m some nuisance, some inside joke. That stupid new Peacekeeper. Our power dynamics seem to have abruptly flipped, and I feel even more helpless than angry.

Cray is about to respond when he notices the boots in my hand. He looks down at the girl’s patchy red and white feet and shakes his head. “I should explain something to you, Agent Mason,” he says, catching my eye. “We have an unofficial policy against harassing poachers in these parts.”

“What?” I ask dumbly.

“Oh, some Peacekeepers still do, but I discourage it, and most of them understand that they’re only hurting themselves by cracking down on illegal hunting and gathering.” When I just stare at him in confusion, he elucidates, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Peacekeeper rations aren’t the tastiest thing out there. At most outposts, you can buy better food legally if that’s how you want to spend your pay, but we don’t exactly have an abundance of it here. We’re lucky if our perishables don’t spoil by the time they make it to District 12, so we’re stuck with whatever we can get.” He points at Everdeen. “She and her boyfriend are your best crack at getting a half-decent cut of meat in this town.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she snaps.

He waves her off patronizingly. “Regardless, the poachers are doing no harm, and we all benefit from the arrangement. We get fresh meat and produce, and they get to support their families.”

“Support their families?” I gesture in Everdeen’s direction. “She’s just a kid.”

“I’m sixteen in May,” the girl protests irritably.

“I think you underestimate just how impoverished this district is, Mason,” Cray answers. “People are starving, desperate. It’s not at all uncommon around here for young teenagers to try to make some extra money.”

“Well you’d know a lot about desperate young teenagers, now wouldn’t you?” Everdeen mumbles sardonically, almost as though she’s talking to herself. But we both hear her.

Cray turns towards her dangerously. “Pardon me?” he growls, eyes narrowing. I finally see the intimidation on the girl’s face that I’d been trying so hard to procure earlier, but she doesn’t cower or break down into bumbling apologies and explanations. She stands her ground proudly. She probably has too much pride for her own good.

Her pride. She refuses to lose her pride. Shit, that’s what’s going on here. There’s a connection between my tour guide’s comments about Cray being too friendly and having many vices and the poacher’s fit of rage at my cracks about her prostituting herself, a connection that dawns on me just as Cray’s hand snaps out and smacks her forcefully on the cheek. I spot the reflexive tears welling up in her eyes when her head swivels around from the impact, and I almost step in in her defense until I remember I’m supposed to be on his side. Then again, he’s not supposed to exchange money or goods for sexual favors, let alone commit statutory rape while doing so. He’s not the one who needs protection in this scenario.

“You watch your mouth, Miss Everdeen,” Cray seethes. “Just because I overlook your poaching doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate to punish you for other infractions. Or would you like a good lashing in the town square?” A muscle twitches in Everdeen’s jaw and her gaze is still hard, but she shakes her head.

“What kind of fucked up place is this?” I remark in astonishment. I expected there to be corruption in the Peacekeeping Corps wherever I landed, but I thought it would be more along the lines of excessive brutality than laxity and solicitation. Excessive brutality is more my style. It’s what I was trained to do. I glance to my left and catch Everdeen staring at me with raised eyebrows, a smirk fighting its way onto her face. More pressingly, Cray now turns to me with the same expression he just leveled at the girl, so I backpedal immediately. “Pardon my language, sir, but I thought I knew the laws of this country. And it seems you all operate under your own set of them out here,” I say, sweeping my hand around to indicate them both.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, for all of us,” Cray responds icily. Desperate for what? To get laid? I don’t make the same mistake Everdeen did and say that aloud. “The sooner you get accustomed to how things work around here, the better it will be for you, Agent Mason.” He looks between us disdainfully and his eyes settle on the poacher’s feet. “I’d tell you both to get out of my sight, but we can’t have Everdeen walking back to the Seam on those feet.” He turns to me. “Mason, would you be so kind? I’m sure you’re familiar with the treatment for frostbite.” Of course I am. I’m from District 2. “Bathroom’s down the hall on the left,” he says, indicating where to go. Then he extends his hand to Everdeen. “I’ll take your weapons for safekeeping. And put your kills in my cooler.” She eyes him warily but nods her assent and hands over the bow.

While Cray relieves Everdeen of her quiver and bag, I venture from the hallway and scan his living room for a blanket. I spot one and grab it to bring with me, almost running into Cray on his way by. “May I?” I ask. He nods. I’ve just turned to walk away when he speaks again.

“Mason?” I poke my head back into the room to see him stashing the rabbits in an icebox in the adjacent kitchen. He catches my eye and warns me, “If the district’s best hunter ends up crippled because of your recklessness, I can promise you your career here will be unpleasant.”

I nod stiffly before turning to Everdeen and pointing down the hall. Her smug smirk makes a comeback and she brags, “What did I tell you?”

“Shut up,” I grumble with a little shove to her back. I sit her down on the edge of the bathtub and turn on the taps as soon as we arrive.

“Don’t make it too hot,” she cautions me. “It’ll just cause more damage.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I huff as I kneel down beside the taps.

“Yeah right,” she scoffs, “like anyone in the Capitol ever gets frostbite.”

“I’m not from the Capitol.” When she doesn’t respond, I look up and see an expression of genuine surprise on her face. “What, you couldn’t tell from my accent?” I tease her. “Or lack thereof, I should say.” I hate the way the Capitol people speak, all high and squeaky. It sounds like someone stabbing a mouse with a fork repeatedly. A Capitol accent is considered sort of posh in District Two, but my voice is high enough as it is and I’ve never felt the need to augment that with some ridiculous inflection.

“One, Two, or Four?” she rattles off. The Career districts. I’m not sure what led her to that assumption. Decent fighters, ergo Peacekeepers?

“Two,” I tell her. I don’t tell her I doubt I’ve ever met a Peacekeeper who wasn’t from District 2. I have a feeling we’re not supposed to disseminate that kind of information to the locals. I’ve heard that a small percentage of us are Capitol citizens, but they often get stationed there after their training. You certainly wouldn’t find any of them in a place like this.

I take to swirling my hand in the rising water and, satisfied that it’s a good enough temperature, catch the poacher’s eyes and instruct her, “Take your pants off.” Redness immediately overcomes her cheeks as she stares back at me, unblinking and wide-eyed, and I feel an immediate rush of heat to my face. “I mean, they’re wet,” I explain awkwardly, unsure if her own blush is from anger or embarrassment. “You should remove any wet clothing and get bundled up in something warm and dry.” I hand her the blanket and make a point of staring into the water while she strips off her pants and wraps the blanket around her waist.

Satisfied with the water level, I turn the taps off as she sits back down. I silently motion to the tub and she obediently swivels on her ass to dip her feet in. She hisses almost immediately, wincing but doggedly keeping her feet submerged. Pins and needles, the best part of rewarming. I’ve had to do this several times myself and I can recall it’s far from pleasant. She relaxes marginally after a few moments and absent-mindedly rubs her cheek where the blush didn’t entirely dissipate. I can see the remnants of a handprint now that she’s turned towards the tub.

“Are you all right?” I ask on impulse.

Everdeen squints at me disbelievingly for several seconds before adopting that neutral expression again and reminding me, “My face is the least of my worries right now.” I sort of want to apologize. I don’t.

“You’ll be fine,” I assure her cavalierly. “I’ve seen much worse with no permanent damage. I’d actually classify this as frostnip.” She raises a dubious eyebrow. “No, seriously, you’ll be walking out of here within half an hour. Trust me.”

“Because Peacekeepers are so trustworthy,” she mumbles sardonically.

“Sounds like you’re friendly with Darian,” I point out.

“Darius,” she reminds me pointedly. “And he’s okay. He’s Hob.”

This rings a bell and I question her, “What is the Hob, anyway? He mentioned that too.”

“Black market,” she says far too casually for being in the Head Peacekeeper’s home. Twelve really is a special place. “It’s where I sell most of my kills. Darius is a frequent customer.” She eyes up my uniform. “Lots of you are.”

“So that’s how they all know you,” I ruminate. “Why’d I’d never live down dragging you over here.” She nods, refocusing on the water, and I find myself staring again. A few tendrils of hair have escaped her braid and are hanging loose along her clenched jaw. Another stirring of guilt afflicts my stomach when my eyes dart down to see her fingers whitening from being clamped around the edge of the tub. In an effort to distract her from her current discomfort, I clear my throat and venture, “So if I’ll be seeing you around as much as it sounds like, I should know what to call you.”

“You know my name,” she mutters.

“I mean do you have a first name?” She doesn’t answer, so I nudge her shoulder with my fist and tease, “I know you’re on a first name basis with at least one of us.”

The girl seems to ignore me for a moment, idly swirling a foot in the bath. Finally she raises her eyes to mine again and says, “It’s Katniss.”

“Catpiss?” I tease her with a sizeable smirk. I can’t help myself.

“Original.” She drops her gaze back to the water. “What’s yours?”

“Johanna.”

Katniss nods in acknowledgement and hums to herself before finally asking, “So, Johanna Mason, what do you think of your new home? And your new boss?”

“I think they both suck,” I state bluntly.

She laughs a little. “How observant.” She bites her lip and drums her fingers on the tub’s edge, eventually reinitiates eye contact and discloses, “I’m not used to hearing Peacekeepers calling him out.” I can’t be sure, but from her tone of voice I think that was a compliment.

“Hardly as impressive as a local calling him out,” I praise her in return. That’s not empty flattery; I did find it impressive. I like her rebellious spirit a lot more when it isn’t directed at me.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” she admits. “I’d normally never say anything like that.” She catches my eye purposively and reminds me, “It’s been a rough day.”

“You’d be smart to keep your rough days to a minimum, Everdeen,” I advise her, ignoring that obvious jab at my own behavior. “Who knows how far you have to push him before he’ll make good on that threat?”

“It’ll never happen,” she declares coolly. “Cray’s not a fan of gore. And his threats tend to be idle. He doesn’t care much about actually upholding the law as long as things run smoothly for him.” Run smoothly. That’s one way to put it. To think that I thought he seemed like such a sweet old man. Gross. No wonder Katniss was so offended when I made that joke earlier. I get a big kick out of offending people, to be fair, but it turns out that that quip was below the belt in more ways than one.

I clear my throat while adjusting my positioning to a squat. “Look, when I said that thing about Darius, I was joking,” I confess, gazing down into the water. When I look back to Everdeen, she’s eyeing me up, her expression unreadable. I twitch a corner of my mouth guiltily and continue, “I didn’t realize that’s something that actually happens around here.”

“Well, not to me,” she rejoins proudly. “I earn my money on my feet, not my knees or my back.” I can’t help but feel a touch of admiration for the girl, annoying as she is. She spends her free time braving the woods to try to feed her family rather than take the easy way out by, well, being easy. There’s something badass about refusing to abandon one’s morals and dignity. I’m just processing this thought when Katniss undermines it, her demeanor suddenly shifting. “If I couldn’t hunt, I might have to, to be honest.” She answers my wide eyes with a dispassionate shrug. “I have a little sister. It’s not just me I have to worry about starving.”

“You’d really do that?” I jerk my head towards the door, indicating the old man outside. I’m met with a blank stare and blunt reply.

“We do whatever we have to do to survive around here.”

This sparks an unfamiliar anger in me. I’m no stranger to the emotion itself, but it’s never been directed at the system before. Why would it be? I never had to even consider selling my body to get a decent meal. My biggest worry when it came to food was finding something nutritious enough to supplement my training. But had I been born elsewhere, that could have been me. And as much as I hate to admit it, this girl reminds me a little too much of myself.

True to my word, I have the hunter dressed and back at Cray’s door before long. I cast another glance at her feet while she checks the contents of her game bag. She’s just lifting the strap over her head when I ask her, “Are you going to be fine to walk home?”

“Oh, so now you care if I can walk?” she snarks. “Besides, I thought you said I’d be fine.”

“And I’m sure you will be,” I retort. Another eyeful of her attitude and I sigh in frustration, “Never mind, forget I said anything.”

Everdeen studies me for a moment, her face slowly relenting. “I’m heading to the Hob, actually,” she finally says. “And I’ll be okay. My mother’s a healer and she’ll be able to spot any complications.”

I should probably hide my sigh of relief, but I don’t. I’m not one for giving apologies, especially to people I’m supposed to be policing, but I’d rather she understand that I regret my actions. I open the door and motion for her to exit, then follow her out. I pause at the top of the steps and stuff my hands into my pockets. Katniss notices my absence beside her and turns around a few steps into the snow.

“I was going to go buy some sunglasses if I could find any, but I forgot to bring money,” I confess. “No point in me hitting up the town without anything to barter with. I’m just gonna head back to the barracks.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she shrugs.

I toe the smattering of powder under my foot for a moment before raising my head and a questioning eyebrow. “I guess I’ll see you around?” I venture.

I think I might detect a hint of a playful smirk when she replies, “God, I hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my side project, so it might not get regular updates, but I'm having a lot of fun with it. That's not to say it will be all fun and games, of course. I'm still me ;). I attempted to give Johanna a unique voice compared to the narration style I use for Katniss, but I'm not sure how I did with that and would appreciate feedback on the matter. And feedback in general, of course. :)
> 
> It might be some time yet before I can update my main fic. I bumped my head again last week and have been working a lot, so I've had very limited energy available to devote to creative endeavours. Thanks for your patience. I hope that if you're a fan of Lifeblood you will at least enjoy this in the meantime.
> 
> Thanks to District-7-Profanity for agreeing to beta yet another story for me.


	2. Future, Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't specify this at the start, but this fic will use a mix of book and movie canon, though more book canon because this story starts before the movies and so I have to utilize a lot of backstory, of which there isn't much in the films. Also, the films leave out a lot of the stuff about the Peacekeepers and the general culture of Twelve, the policy of benign neglect, etc. Some movie aesthetic will used, and some book. For instance, my conception of Katniss's appearance in this one is that she looks like JLaw but is a bit shorter and darker. Events will likely be more accurate to the books but I know that those will get mixed too eventually. I'm mentioning all this so no one gets confused when this becomes more noticeable later on, once we get to and beyond the 74th Games.
> 
> Also, thanks for waiting for an update while I focused on Lifeblood for awhile. I hope you all enjoy this one.
> 
> UPDATE: I've made a small adjustment to the layout of the Justice Building. Nothing that really affects the plot, but since I changed it I figured I should mention it.

“You have plans after work, or are you up for some illegal activity?”

I look up at my comrade as we make our way to the hummer our replacements drove to our post. “Not even a week in and you’re trying to corrupt me already, Hallett?” This is the second time in three shifts I’ve worked with Darius, though last time we were on square duty and had Troy with us. Today we were alone and stationed near the community home on the edge of the Seam, so I finally got my first taste of the slums while on patrol. It’s depressing, to say the least.

“Makes no difference if you piss in yellow snow,” the boy teases, nudging his forearm into my shoulder.

“Ouch,” I retort playfully, returning the shove. “What makes you think I’m corrupt?”

“Just a feeling. You have a bad girl vibe.” He seems to mean it as a compliment. I duck my head to hide my smile and just listen to the fresh powder crunching under our boots.

“Good,” I finally say. “What kind of activity? Drugs? The Hob?”

“Hob, of course. It’s Thursday, remember?” Oh, right. Darius told me all about this yesterday over some games of hoverpuck on our mutual day off, pitched it to me as a chance to see Cray and maybe the elusive Haymitch staggering around and tossing their guts. The most notorious local moonshiner routinely shows up with a new batch of her white liquor every Thursday, and since she often sells out by Monday, a crowd is guaranteed. Because Thursday brings out all the drunkards, the miners who brew on the side usually show up that day too, with everything from stout to apple wine bottled and in tapped barrels. Darius claims it’s a total shit show with high entertainment value.

“So you need a drinking buddy?”

“Something like that. Though I doubt you’ll get much down before it comes back up. Ripper’s shit could take the paint off the side of a house. Stuff’s lethal.” I narrow my eyes at him and his grin only widens. “We might have to start you off on that apple wine,” he taunts me, eyes glinting mischievously as I level a harsh glare at him.

“A: Fuck you, I’ll drink you under the table,” I sneer. “B: Wine gives me terrible hangovers. I’ll stick to the hard stuff, thank you very much.” I speed up to distance myself from him and then call over my shoulder, “Oh, and C: I’m broke right now, so you’re buying.”

“Which might worry me if I actually thought you could outdrink me,” he replies, hustling to catch up. “You’re not even legal age, how could you have a high alcohol tolerance already?” Being twenty-one, Darius has been legal for two years, but he probably started as soon as he got here three years ago and realized no one gave a shit. Even so, unless he indulged back in District Two, I have a head start on him.

“Legal age is totally arbitrary,” I argue. “Besides, not everyone obeys the law back home, you know.” I certainly didn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t be here. “I have two older siblings and an alcoholic uncle. Booze was easy enough to come by.”

“Sorry I asked,” he mutters. “But hey, if you’re still bummed you were assigned here, think of it this way: at least in Twelve you can drink without having to worry about the Head Peacekeeper getting on your case.”

“Well, it would be really hypocritical of him to crack down on underage drinking given his fondness for underage girls,” I spit. I hear Darius stop in his tracks, and when I pivot to face him I find his mouth hanging open.

“How do you know about that?”

“What,” I reply haughtily, “you think you’re the only person I know in Twelve?”

“Actually, yeah,” he replies bluntly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hallett.” I start to turn back toward the vehicle, but he grabs my sleeve and gives me a serious look.

“Be careful who you badmouth Cray around,” he warns me. “He has a temper, remember.”

“Oh, I know,” I laugh ironically. The boy narrows his eyes inquisitively, but I hold his gaze despite my discomfort.

“Okay,” he states, folding his arms, “there’s something you’re not telling me. What happened with you and Cray?” I’ve said too much already. I’m sure Everdeen was right and I would never live down the tale of how we met if it got out, but even if I wasn’t concerned about my overall reputation, I don’t want Darius to think badly of me. He’s the closest thing to a friend I have in this place. But he’s not going to let me get away without answering.

“I met your angry poacher friend,” I nonchalantly inform him.

He rubs his chin, his expression only hardening further. “That boy needs to watch what he says around the district,” Darius says gravely. “There’s informants everywhere.”

“What? No, I’m talking about a girl,” I correct him. “She knows you from the Hob. The archer with the braid,” I specify, as though I don’t remember her name.

“Oh, Katniss,” he smiles fondly, though the concern never leaves his eyes.

“Right, Katniss Everdeen. Anyway, she made a snide remark about it in front of Cray and he came down on her.” Hallett’s eyebrows shoot up so I quickly tack on, “Don’t worry, she’s fine. All she got was a tongue-lashing. And a smack upside the head.”

“Still, that’s not like her,” he muses.

“I guess she was having a rough day.” I can tell he’s still confused and dissatisfied with my answer, but I don’t want to go into any more details. Or for him to seek them out elsewhere. “Better not mention it to her,” I suggest casually. “The whole thing was kind of embarrassing for her.”

“Okay, then,” he agrees waveringly. “I won’t.” He then changes the subject as quickly as he snaps an impish grin back onto his face. “You wanna drive?” he asks, whipping the keys out of his pocket and dangling them in front of my face.

“Hell yes!” I shout, snatching them from his grasp. I’ve never driven before, but I’ve been a passenger enough times to sort of know how, and I’ve always wanted to try. Darius just laughs at my enthusiasm as we traverse the remaining distance to the vehicle.

“You know how to drive stick?”

A delicious smirk takes over my face before I even start to answer. “No,” I wink, “but if you wanna teach me, I’m up for it.” His suddenly mute, open mouth betrays how successful that attempt to throw him was, but he quickly shakes it off and laughs uneasily.

“Pervert,” he grunts.

I just walk off swaggering my hips. “Honey, you have no idea.”

***

Truthfully, Darius isn’t the only reason I’m here. Though I like the guy, he’s a bit much. I was sick of him by yesterday afternoon after he took it upon himself to entertain me for the day, so I took to the woods again before dark. The downside of peace and quiet I found there was the lack of distraction from the thoughts and regrets that cloud my brain whenever it is otherwise unoccupied. There’s not much peace and quiet to be had here on a Thursday evening at the Hob, but plenty of company. Unfortunately, the only truly familiar face in the crowd is Hallett’s. No one would know, given all my bravado, but I can be painfully shy around people I don’t know.

For all his talk, Darius is putting very little effort into outdrinking me. He’s just sitting on the counter at a stall manned by some old woman, chatting her up and nursing a mug of something or other. I’m making decent progress on a small bottle of Ripper’s liquor, the strength of which Darius aptly described earlier, but I’m no lightweight. I don’t stumble at all on my way over to punch him in the knee.

“So much for me not being able to outdrink you,” I sass him, jiggling the bottle in front of his face.

He bats my hand away and condescends, “I never said I was planning to get plastered. You assumed.” He gestures at my drink. “But I promised I’d buy, so if you want to sit out sick tomorrow, by all means, drink up.”

“You think I’m such a sad sack that I’m going to drink alone, Hallett?” I shoot back, heat rising in my cheeks. “Or are you just a pussy?” He lets out a boisterous laugh that is echoed by the old lady, so I deepen my glare. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re slurring,” he informs me before pointing to the woman and proceeding to make introductions. “Mason, this is Greasy Sae. Sae, Johanna Mason. She’s this abrasive even when sober.”

“I’m not drunk!” I protest. “I’m perfectly in control of my fac- fa- facilities.” This draws another howl of laughter from the boy and his companion. It’s faculties, isn’t it? Maybe I’m farther gone than I thought. I’m pretty sure Darius is too, though, hunched over and holding his aching belly through a laugh disproportionate to the humor in the situation. At least, in my opinion.

The nearby door squeaks loudly on its rusty hinges, and I snap my head around to peek over my shoulder at whoever’s entering. It’s just a couple of on-duty Peacekeepers. My eyes jump to Cray, who’s embroiled in conversation with Ripper and doesn’t seem to have noticed. Not that I’m sure he’s sober enough to care.

“Who are you waiting for?” Darius asks.

“No one.” I motion between him, Cray, and a small group of our fellow morning crew hanging out in a nearby corner. “Everyone I know is here.” I’m sort of lying on both counts, but I’m hoping he doesn’t remember that part of our conversation this afternoon. It was kind of stupid of me to assume I might run into the gutsy huntress here. It’s a weekday, so she’s probably in school until a couple hours before the sun goes down. She might not even have a chance to hunt. I leave Darius with Sae and head for our group of coworkers, partly to prove my point and partly because he’s belittling and irritating me, but I’m not even halfway there before he catches up. Damn these tall people and their long ass legs. “What?” I scowl. “Ditching your girlfriend to follow some stupid drunkard around?”

“Hey now,” he protests, lifting his hands in surrender, “I never said that.” The glower has almost left my face by the time his cracks into a grin. “I think she’s a little old for me.” I smack his arm, yet smile all the same. He’s kind of a dick, but at least he’s funny. Much like me.

I actually start to enjoy myself a bit after that, making jokes and light-hearted conversation with the other Peacekeepers. It’s all surface-level bullshit, but I haven’t had enough of anything light-hearted recently. Or in my life at all, really. Part of that’s my fault for being so drawn to darkness. My most recent relationship is proof enough of that.

It’s been maybe ten minutes by the time the on-duty guys join our group and I sneak another look at Ripper’s table to assess Cray’s reaction. I don’t see him, but my stomach jumps when my eyes land on a familiar braid and jacket over by Greasy Sae’s stall. I must have been too distracted to notice her coming in. I don’t consider whether to approach her or stick with the group; some force pulls me toward her without the need for any conscious thought. I stealthily slip up beside her before leaning back against the counter and pulling on my best smirk.

“Hey, brainless,” I purr.

The younger girl cocks an eyebrow and pointedly observes, “Oh, it’s you.”

I force the grin to stay on my face and reply, “At least I didn’t call you Catpiss.”

“I guess I should be grateful,” she deadpans, but the small upward quirk of one corner of her mouth calms me, and my face relaxes into a more genuine smile.

“How are you?” I inquire, meaningfully flicking my eyes down to her feet.

“Clean bill of health, no thanks to you,” she retorts. And Darius called me abrasive.

“Glad to hear it,” I reply evenly, purposely ignoring that remark. I twitch my eyebrows and casually conclude, “In that case, I’ll leave you alone.” Two can play that game. However, I can’t stop myself from peeking over my shoulder after strolling a few steps. She’s watching me, and I let a catlike grin take over my face as I keep walking, right into a tall, hard body. I stumble back a step on the rebound and crane my neck up to get a look at the man I crashed into. He looks like a male version of Everdeen: every bit as attractive, same dark hair and piercing grey eyes, same olive skin and grouchy disposition. He’s scrawny like her but about Darius’s height, and definitely older, not underage. Maybe for drinking, but not other things. I lick my lips and grin once again, fluttering my eyelashes.

“Hello, handsome,” I drawl. “You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled.” I’m just kidding. He can scowl at me like that any day. Or night. The young man just stares at me in silent disbelief, but a cackle slowly rises up behind me.

“I’ve been telling him something like that for years, sweetheart,” laughs Greasy Sae. “Don’t bother waiting on that. If you want a jolly man, stick with your redheaded friend.”

“Pffft,” I snort, swiveling to face her, “I’m not into Darius like that.”

I catch Everdeen’s eye almost immediately. She has her poker face on again, but I can tell she’s annoyed. That’s explained very quickly when she snaps, “Mason. This is my hunting partner, Gale.” I think I spy a hint of jealousy. Maybe she has a thing for her not-boyfriend after all.

“That’s a girl’s name,” I giggle, masking my sudden unease.

“It’s spelled differently,” the boy scoffs from behind me. He even has Everdeen’s deep voice. Damn. “Like a windstorm.”

I smirk at him over my shoulder. “Stormy. How fitting.” He’s still eyeing me sourly when Darius sidles up to him, claps him on the shoulder, and asks what the haul was like today.

“Your little shadow,” Sae whispers, drawing my attention back to her and Katniss. She winks, and I just roll my eyes. Her smirk only grows when Darius slings an arm around my neck a moment later.

“My three favorite ladies, all in one place!” he proclaims heartily.

“Shoo, you big lug,” the old woman chuckles, flicking her dishtowel at him. “You’re scaring away my customers with your shouting.”

“Oh, really?” he blusters. “I’d think I’d be attracting them. Buy your soup, get some eye candy on the side.” He flexes his free arm and morphs his face into an expression much more ridiculous than seductive. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I find myself keeling over in laughter. It probably isn’t just the alcohol, actually, because even Katniss is laughing.

“No, no,” I gasp between peals of laughter. “They’re the eye candy.” I point at the hunters. “You’re just a pasty redhead.”

Darius folds his arms and glowers down at me theatrically. “Excuse me, Agent Mason,” he huffs, “but I’ll have you know that redheaded men are known for having particular… talents.”

“Like verbal diarrhea?” I sass him with a cocked eyebrow. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Greasy Sae cuts in. “I’m telling Ripper and the boys both of you are cut off if you don’t scoot.”

“Fine,” Darius groans. “Ruin all our fun.” He tugs my arm on his way deeper into the warehouse. “Come on, Jo.”

“Don’t call me that, I told you,” I growl as I turn and catch up with him. He’s eyeing me teasingly and opening his mouth to argue when we’re interrupted by a familiar voice behind us.

“Darius, have you seen the baker?”

The boy looks over my head to make eye contact with Katniss. “Mellark? No, why?”

“I was saving a squirrel for him,” she explains as I feel and hear her brushing up beside me as we continue to walk. I glance over to find her eyes already on me, but they instantly drop to her game bag. “If he doesn’t show, you want the little fella?”

“Don’t know if I can afford it,” says Darius. “I already paid to get our tiny friend drunk tonight.”

“I’m not drunk!” I protest.

“Yes, you are,” he counters assuredly.

“That might be why he’s not here, come to think of it,” Everdeen muses. “Probably saving up to buy a turkey from us in a couple weeks.” She’s referring to the Harvest Festival coming up in a little over two weeks. It’s not exactly a holiday; we still have to work. Well, I don’t have to because it’s celebrated on a Sunday, but Darius and the others I know well are all working. Purnia has Sundays off too, but I’m not exactly friends with the ice queen, so I guess there won’t be much of a celebration for me. It’s far from what I’m used to.

“Hey,” Darius barks, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I blink up to meet his eyes, which narrow. “Watch where you’re walking. You off in la la land?”

“Just thinking about the Festival in the Square,” I admit wistfully. “When the Tour would come through.”

“You’ve been?” he gawks. “I thought you lived a ways out from the city.”

“Not that far. Besides,” I add slyly, “I may have been invited a couple times because I knew the victor.” All the kids in the candidacy program for DV were always invited to the Victory Tour, actually, whether District 2 won or not, and we’ve had two victors since I formally declared my interest and joined at the age of ten. Three victors, if you count this year.

“Really?” Hallett inquires, genuinely curious. “Who?”

“It’s rude to name drop,” I tease him evasively.

“You’re full of shit,” he scoffs.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” I concede. I don’t want to talk about the program or any of that right now. “Point is, I’ve been there. It’s a riot.” My eyes flit over to our armed on-duty comrades and I clarify, “In a good way.”

“You mean if your district won?” Everdeen’s low and quiet voice comes from my other side.

“Yeah. Whenever we win, we mix our Harvest Festival celebrations with the Victory Tour ones because they end up falling on the same day,” I explain. The girl’s eyes dart away. Her face twists a little and she starts sort of chewing on her lip. “What?” I ask. “Don’t you do the same here?” Her eyes meet mine again, and despite her suddenly expressionless face, I can distinctly make out the anger burning in those grey orbs.

“How drunk are you?” she asks blankly, with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. “‘Tribute’ is pretty much synonymous with ‘corpse’ in Twelve. You know how many victors we’ve had in seventy-five years?” Of course not. All I know is that Haymitch is the only semi-recent one.

“Three? Four?” I extrapolate.

“Two,” she answers evenly. “And none in my lifetime. So, no, I’ve never been to a big party at the end of the Tour.” Her words dig into my conscience thanks to the subtle edge in her tone. I shift uncomfortably and glance over at Darius, who is pretending to be conveniently distracted by someone across the room. I begrudgingly look back to Katniss, who again holds my gaze intently, but her eyes convey frustration more than anger now. And maybe a bit of fear. Of my reaction, probably. But I’m not about to give her grief or punishment for accurately pointing out that her district is disadvantaged in the Games and has less reason to celebrate. I would have questioned that fact before I got here, but not now. My pride urges me to mock the girl for being touchy, but I can tell she’s actually a bit upset and I don’t really want to make it worse. Or get on her bad side. I’m never going to tell her that I’d been planning to volunteer this year. Somehow, I doubt that would go over well.

“I’ll buy your squirrel,” Darius offers with a weak smile, easing the tension slightly. “Jo still needs her first taste of backwoods cuisine.”

“Seriously, don’t,” I repeat, punching his arm hard enough to stress that it’s no joke. “My ex used to call me that, and thinking about her sends me into fits of rage I’m sure you’d rather not see.” To be fair, Clove wasn’t the only one; most of the candidates addressed me as Jo. But thinking about any of them is painful these days. I’d rather lose myself in this new life, as much as I don’t care for it.

Darius halts mid-step, boot scuffing the dusty floorboards. “Her?” He asks, intrigued eyes giving me a onceover when I stop and turn around. I bite my lip and bounce my eyes between him and Katniss, whose face is still remarkably impassive. Then again, maybe she isn’t surprised, or just doesn’t care.

“What?” I sputter. “You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” Darius grins lecherously, throwing me a wink. I roll my eyes. “I just didn’t peg you for a homo.”

My mouth puckers. “Who actually uses that word anymore, Hallett? What century are we living in?” It’s not really an insult, but it’s definitely obsolete. Most people in Two don’t bother to classify each other by sexual preferences when it comes to gender, or anything else. 

“I’ve heard it around,” he shrugs innocently. I don’t bother asking where, because I honestly don’t even care.

“What’s a homo?” Katniss inquires after a long beat. I smile a little despite myself.

“Homosexual,” I say. “Means someone who fucks the same sex, not the opposite sex.”

“Oh,” she mumbles, eyes flitting away. Even through her darker skin, I pick up on red tinge surfacing in her grubby, sweat-stained complexion. She’s sure easy to embarrass. “We don’t have a word for that here.”

“You mean there’s no one like that around?” I ask in disbelief. That’s not possible. Maybe it’s just a social taboo here and no one speaks of it; I mean, this is hick country.

“No, there is,” Darius answers for her. I shoot him a look before returning my attention to the younger girl to let her answer if she so desires. She says nothing. “Don’t worry,” the redhead continues. “It’s the same as back home. No one’s gonna bully you over it.”

“Of course they won’t,” I snap. “Because I’m not a homo.” Off his obvious bewilderment, I explain, “I like boys too. I don’t know what the word for that is.”

“Me neither,” Darius admits. The twinkle in his eye slowly returns along with a cunning smile. “Then I didn’t peg you so wrong after all, Jo.” My face hardens, and he immediately backpedals, “I mean, Mason. Johanna. Please don’t hit me.” I smirk a little at his obviously exaggerated cowardice. He has no idea I could kill him with my bare hands or any of a variety of weapons. The mere thought is enough to make this whole conversation so much more palatable.

“If you feel the need to shorten my name,” I tell them, “you can call me Hanna.” That was what my family called me. Most of my memories associated with them are pleasant, or at least not currently causing me to want to throw myself down a mineshaft, so it’s a better alternative.

“Hanna?” Katniss probes. She hasn’t seen my name spelled out like Darius has.

“Silent H,” I explain. Darius suddenly breaks into laughter, and we both look his way.

“Can I call you silent homo?” he sniggers.

“I’m not a homo,” I reiterate warningly.

“And definitely not silent,” Katniss pitches in. “You’re almost as bad as him.”

“Okay, I give up,” I declare, backing away and flipping them both off jokingly. “You guys eat your damn squirrel. I’m gonna go find some people who actually like me.”

As I’m stalking off toward the group of Peacekeepers, I hear Darius call after me, “Good luck with that!” I flip him off again over my shoulder, but I’m smiling. I don’t exactly relish being picked on, but when it’s good-natured, I know it bodes well for the future. It means I belong.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, Scarlett Caskey,” Mayor Undersee’s voice booms from the speakers. Polite but faint applause from those herded into the square greets the towering 17 year-old, who smiles broadly and waves as though the lack of enthusiasm doesn’t faze her in the slightest. And I’m sure it doesn’t. We were always taught to have a thick skin. Scar surely wasn’t expecting the warmest welcome from the people of Twelve, anyway, given her involvement in the deaths of both their tributes. She slit the boy’s throat personally in the bloodbath and was part of a diabolical Career pack that stalked the girl until she opted to fall on her own knife rather than face a humiliating and possibly slow death at their hands. Scar was very business-like about her kills and not the type to taunt or torture a fellow tribute, but she was there, and thus guilty by association.

It doesn’t surprise me one bit that Scar keeps her words about the female tribute even more short and to the point than her kills. The girl’s choice was much maligned back in District 2 because she died dishonorably, and in the Capitol because suicides are anticlimactic. I understand her motivation, however. There is a certain rebellious glory in going out on your own terms, so to speak, rather being stripped of your power in your final moments. Or hours, if they decide to draw it out, which is another good reason to end it before they catch you. Careers rarely die slowly, though, so I always pushed aside any worry about the possibility.

I’m grateful that I don’t have to feign any positive emotion on pain of imprisonment in this situation, unlike the locals. The glazed-over somber mood in the square doesn’t help the acute pain in my chest or the burbling of my stomach. Being stationed on the stage is particularly cruel. I’m twenty feet from where I should be, twenty feet I will never traverse. The regret is crushing my mind, and apparently my lungs as well. Regret for not pushing for my own selection last year, for deferring to Scar and taking another year to mature and train. Scar never would have gotten into the mess I did. We both would have gotten our chance.

It’s a mercifully short few minutes before the victor is saying her final thank-you and retreating back inside the Justice Building. Seeing her again at all, let alone in this context, is extremely painful, but I can’t drag my eyes away. I wait for her to make eye contact and smile, like she always did. She walks right past me. Unbelievable. I wasn’t three feet away, and a girl I’ve known for a good six years just looked right through me like I wasn’t even there. This fucking uniform is something else. My face and neck burn as I wheel in time with my partner across from me to march out behind her. We pass our comrades at the doors, and suddenly there is nothing between her and me but the uniform. And twenty feet, yet again. I’m not supposed to break rank until she and her entourage have made it back to the prep rooms, but I’m not just another one of these drones. I’m not just another face in the crowd. I have a name.

“Scar!” I call out, speeding up a little, but I get no reaction. Maybe I’m inaudible as well as invisible. I try once more, louder and deeper. “Hey, Beanstalk!” Scar pauses and turns her head in surprise, and she finally catches my eye. Despite my inner turmoil, a grin splits my face wide open.

“Jo!” she hails back, immediately backtracking her steps. I have a name. It’s painful to hear, but I have one. Scar catches me off guard by grabbing one of my biceps and pulling me into a tight hug the second I’m within her reach. It’s not like we’ve never hugged before, but we’re not really what you’d call friends, nor are we exceptionally close. In fact, we were rivals more than anything for a long time. I resented her at first because she joined the program after me and was the same age, but as other potential candidates dropped out over the years it became an unchallenged assumption that we would be selected at 17 and 18 for the 73rd and 74th Games, though the order was up in the air. Once the competition died down, we were able to settle into a more amicable relationship, but we still rarely saw each other or had the chance to train together because our villages were not even remotely close. That’s where Clove came in.

“You don’t mind if I steal your comrade, do you?” she rhetorically asks my partner over my head. There are a few more of us back here, but there’s no officers to object right now, won’t be until the mayor’s closing statement is over.

“I’m off now, actually,” I fib into her chest. It’s close enough to the truth. “I’m usually off at two, but duty calls when there’s big events.”

“Scarlett!” a familiar male voice shrills from behind me, causing me to grimace. One thing I won’t regret missing out on as a tribute is listening to him all fucking day. “We have a schedule to keep.”

“Five minutes, Xavier,” she insists. “She’s an old friend.” Okay, maybe I was wrong about that. Before I know it, I’m being dragged into a stuffy, dark elevator. Scar says nothing more until the doors have closed behind us, even for a few seconds after that. “I kind of feel like I’m seeing a ghost,” she finally says without warning, looking over to make eye contact.

“I guess the outfit doesn’t help,” I crack, sweeping a hand over the all white ensemble. She laughs. I smile. This is routine for us. This almost feels normal.

“I mean I never thought I’d see you again,” she rephrases, poking me in the shoulder. “Though you are one of the last people I ever thought I’d see decked out in white.” She clears her throat and looks forward again. “I mean, I heard you enlisted, but I kind of thought you’d offed yourself and that was just some bullshit cover story.”

My face scrunches up, but she’s not looking at me, so I have to verbalize, “Why would I do something like that?”

Scar catches my eye again, her face suddenly dark. She peeks out into the hallway once the elevator slows and its doors open, but even though we appear to be alone, she remains silent until she’s pulled me a good thirty feet down the hall and into her prep room. “Listen,” she whispers urgently once the heavy wooden door clicks shut behind us, “I know what Clove did to you.” My eyes bulge in alarm. “Don’t worry, it’s not like it’s public knowledge,” she immediately adds. “You’re fine.” I release a heavy sigh of relief. “I figured it out on my own.”

“How?” I demand, narrow-eyed.

“Logic,” she smiles wryly. “Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You’re proof enough that the two don’t always go hand in hand.” I blink away as I feel a blush creeping up my neck. Maybe I should have been with Scar instead of Clove. Things would have turned out much better. But she’s not really my type, and I don’t think she’s into girls that way. She’s just sly and flirtatious. Like me. She played those strengths and her striking natural beauty to her advantage in the Games. She didn’t exactly pull a Finnick Odair, but she was never wanting for parachutes. Not only was she considered one of the more gorgeous tributes with that dirty blond mane, those stunning hazel eyes and perfect cheekbones, but she had the build of a victor and wouldn’t be considered a long shot by anyone. She’s clearly from a family of stonecutters, tall and broad-shouldered and well-muscled. There’s a reason I resented her and found her intimidating early on. “I’m not the only one.”

“Huh?”

“Other people have figured it out,” she repeats. “Who knew both of you.” I guess that’s not too surprising, even if the one person I told besides my family didn’t blab. Clove and I didn’t exactly keep the fact that we’d evolved into more than training partners under wraps. Being closely associated with a known troublemaker was probably not my finest life choice. But I like trouble.

“I told Jasper,” I admit.

“What for?” gapes Scar.

“I needed advice!” I practically shout. He seemed the best person to go to at the time, being one of the bigwigs in the candidacy program and someone I considered a friend of sorts. “I didn’t know what to do. Blackmail’s a new one on me.”

“What did he say?”

“‘Sorry, Johanna,’” I boom in a deep pitch, “‘but technically, you broke the law.’” Returning to my normal voice, I elaborate, “He said he knew the politics of the committee well and that if charges were laid there’s no way they’d select me even if I didn’t go to prison, and there was nothing he could do about it. Basically.”

“Wow,” she breathes. “What a dick.”

I sigh resignedly and sink down onto a nearby velvet couch. I pull my helmet off, drop it beside me, and eagerly comb my gloved fingers through the freed black tresses. “He was right, though,” I croak, “I did break the law.”

“Yeah, but it’s total bullshit,” Scar instantly replies, concern filling her face as she sits herself down beside me. “No one actually sees you as a criminal, you know. There should be a loophole for–”

“Yeah, but there isn’t,” I snap. “And Clove knew that, I’ll bet, and she waited until the perfect fucking moment to betray me.”

Scar bites her lip and squints, silently mulling something over. “Do you think she always planned to do that?” she eventually asks. “Because that’s a lot of time and effort to commit to fucking someone over.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think about that all the time. It’s plausible. Clove’s shifty like that.” I stare at the thick, luxurious carpet and let a moment of silence pass before I tell Scar, “I like to think so.” I catch her eye and confess, “It’s less painful that way.”

She takes my nearest hand in one of hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry.” Her grip slowly tightens, so I blink up to her face and see it is also morphing with intensity. “Even if I didn’t care what happened to you, what she did was selfish and bad for the district.” She holds my gaze meaningfully. “You were really something. Our best shot at repeating, for sure.”

I know that was meant to be a compliment, but it’s more like a knife in the gut. I’m not something anymore. And even if she hadn’t phrased it in the past tense, the whole idea feels painfully foreign. It’s only my tenth day in town, but I almost feel unable to connect with who I was now that I’ve been thrown into this disorienting new world. Even back in Peacekeeper training, I was starting to feel a certain dissociation, but it’s getting worse, fast.

I shake these unpleasant thoughts from my head and point out, “What about Cato?”

“Naw,” she argues. “Your skill set is much more diverse and you’re way smarter.”

“And I have the cooler head.” I quip. Scar snorts, and before I know it we’re both laughing hysterically, because it’s better than crying. I was never known for my emotional restraint – that was Scar’s hallmark – but I’d have to be on the rag and starving to rival the volatility of the monstrous blond brute.

“That’s good,” she snickers. “Keep your sense of humor, if you can.” She sighs wistfully and squeezes my hand again. “I miss you, Jo.”

I miss Jo too. But I can’t help feeling she’s not coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split what I'd planned to be one chapter in half so I could develop the rest of it without worrying about length, so this one is pretty short. Hopefully that next one will be coming soon. I'm not sure yet if I'm going to focus on that or chapter 11 of Lifeblood first.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read, as always.


	3. A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two consecutive updates on the side project, look at that. I wanted to get this one up quickly because the beginning of this chapter was originally in chapter 2, which ended up lacking in Joniss when I decided to cut it short, and who wants that?

This is by far one of the best solitary forms of stress relief. Sometimes you just need to get your blood pumping and sweat it out. My muscles are screaming, but I keep pounding away at the wood with grunts and curses. I have splinters wedged under my nails and caught in my hair, but I couldn’t care less.

I couldn’t stand being in the barracks after retiring from my reunion with Scarlett so she could get prepped for dinner with the mayor. I pitched my helmet onto my bed, shucked my bulletproof vest and stripped off my uniform, battling tears the whole time. I was about to throw on a generic t-shirt and sweats when I realized I’d rather be trapped in Peacekeeper garb than trapped in the Peacekeeper barracks, so I dropped them in favor of official off-duty clothes. Once I was dressed again, I dragged my large duffel bag out from under my bed and unzipped it to reveal my secret stash. I transferred the knives and throwing hatchets into my smaller bag and then crumpled the big one around the remaining weapon to conceal its shape before throwing on a jacket and immediately taking to the woods.

Hacking away at logs has long been one of my preferred ways to stay sane. Sometimes I needed a way to get some aggression out besides sparring with a partner. Especially once my usual training partner was no longer an option. I spent a lot of time screaming and swinging in the wilderness outside my village in the weeks leading up to my decision to enlist. I usually use less valuable axes, preferably ones made especially for wood chopping, because it isn’t all that great for the blade. But all I have besides the throwing knives and hatchets, which wouldn’t make enough of a mark to matter, is my favorite battle axe. So I make do.

I’m not too far from the tree where I first encountered Katniss Everdeen, so I shouldn’t be surprised that she shows up. But my mind is elsewhere, so I startle into a fighting stance when I suddenly feel a set of eyes on me. There she is, not ten yards away, leaning on a forearm she has braced high against a tree, casually observing me. I wonder how long she’s been there. I play it as cool as I can, considering I almost jumped out of my skin a few seconds ago. I give her a silent nod in greeting and step on the branch I’ve been slashing at to snap it at the weak point I’ve created.

“You’re scaring off all the prey for miles, you know,” she tells me matter-of-factly. Even now that I’m paying attention, I can barely hear the squeak of snow compacting beneath her feet as she approaches. She’d be a threat in any Hunger Games just for her stealth. I meet her eyes again but am unable to read her mood.

I catch myself before an apology can spill from my lips and instead just shrug, “Didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine, you drove them straight my way,” she grins, hefting her bulging game bag. “And here I assumed the barracks’ heating was all electrical.” I’m momentarily confused until I realize she’s referring to the mess of split wood lying around.

“Oh, it is. I’m not chopping firewood.” I kick at the branch by my feet. “I’m just blowing off some steam.”

“Usually it’s the families of the dead tributes who are upset after the Tour,” Katniss comments nonchalantly, but I catch the accusatory undertone.

I narrow my eyes and snap, “What, you think I don’t have the right to be angry?”

“I didn’t say that,” she instantly rebuts, her face suddenly blank. “But you’re from District Two, and I know how you all feel about the Games out there,” she adds bluntly. “I didn’t think you’d care about a couple dead teenagers from these parts, especially considering you just got here.”

“Maybe that’s not why I’m upset, huh, Twelve?” I take a couple of menacing steps toward the poacher. “Maybe I just had a rough day. Peacekeepers can have those too, you know.”

At first I think it’s a grimace infiltrating her expression, but I identify it as a smirk just before she speaks. “Girl trouble?” she drawls. Oh, this little shit.

“Not until now,” I deadpan with playful but narrowed eyes.

Everdeen shrugs her shoulders up to her chin and shoves her hands in her pockets. “So, uh, just how much steam do you have to blow off?” she inquires. I smirk and waggle my eyebrows suggestively. I can’t help myself. She just rolls her eyes and clarifies, “I took down a deer a ways back, and I could use some help hauling it home.”

“Where’s your gorgeous hunting buddy?” I ask with faux innocence. Irritation immediately surfaces on the girl’s face, culling a grin from me.

“He went home,” she retorts, crossing her arms. “School was out early for the Tour and we avoided getting thrown into the square, so we were out all afternoon already.”

I prowl forward a little, still grinning madly. “Lucky for you, you stayed out here, reaped the benefits of my anger.”

“Yes, lucky me,” she says with not the slightest hint of sarcasm. This only grows my smile, but I duck my head now because I think I’ve pushed her far enough for the moment. Besides that, I still have to consider her proposition. Well, only technically. I knew what my answer would be from the beginning.

“Okay,” I relent, “Why not? I don’t wanna go back there anyway.”

“So it _is_ girl trouble,” she concludes smugly.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I growl. “No, it’s not. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

She scoffs, staring me down. “Neither do I. I don’t care what your ‘problems’ are, Agent.”

“So then maybe I don’t care if you can’t drag a damn carcass home by yourself,” I threaten.

“I’m sure you don’t,” she concurs. “But you’re doing it for the exercise, remember?”

No witty comeback comes to mind, so I scowl in reply instead. I don’t like being outsmarted. But I can either make a trip with her or continue swinging a weapon around by myself to keep my mind occupied. I could use a distraction, and annoying company is better than no company. I walk the fifteen feet to where I’d dropped my duffel bag, and I’m about to wrap it back around my axe when I hesitate in thought. I crouch by the mess of splintered wood and start tucking the kindling and branches strewn about the snow into the bag. There isn’t much to pack, so I should be able to carry the bundle on my back without much difficulty.

“Thought you said you couldn’t use it,” comments Katniss.

“It’s not for me.” I catch her eye and see genuine confusion there. I wonder if anyone’s ever done the kid a favor in her life. “I know _your_ heating isn’t electrical. You have a fireplace, yeah, brainless?” She’s still silent, so I just shrug and resume packing. “Waste not.”

Just as I’m standing back up, she blinks down to the bundle and inquires, “Why the big bag if you weren’t even planning on taking the wood, anyway?”

“Same reason you hide those in the woods,” I answer with a nod at her weapons. She continues to look on questioningly, so I elaborate, “So no one sees it. We’re not supposed to bring weapons of our own when we’re deployed.” I retrieve my axe and take a few whacks at the branch I’d been working on, breaking the part I’d cut loose into two. “Not that I’m much of one for following rules.” I toss the last of the wood into the bag and then lift the lower hem of my shirt to wipe my face with as I straighten up. When I pull the material down, I catch Everdeen’s eyes just flitting back up. I can’t help but grin. “See something you like?” I tease, hooking the axe over my shoulder and posing like one of those lumberjacks from Seven.

“Yeah, that gorgeous battle axe,” she replies, seemingly unperturbed. She steps closer to admire it and remarks, “I hope you brought a sharpening stone if you’re planning on using it for anything besides chopping wood.”

“I did.”

“May I?” she asks, extending a hand toward the weapon. I’m surprised by the casualness with which she asks as much as I am by the question itself. I twirl the handle thoughtfully within my fists. If I hand it over I’ll be unarmed, but I want to trust her. I could probably take her on barehanded anyway, if need be. I shrug and pass her the axe. Katniss smiles the second she has her hands on it, and she begins spinning it meticulously, testing its weight. “This is nice,” she remarks. “But if I was going to bring illegal weapons with me somewhere, it wouldn’t be my first choice. Not just because it’s hard to hide. It’s a bit…” She locks both hands around the shaft and attempts to swing it a couple of times. “Unwieldy.”

I snatch it back instantly and retort, “Not if you know how to use it.” I want to put on a big show to demonstrate, but if I put my combat skills on display it’s going to raise too many questions, ones I really don’t want to answer with her around. “Besides, I have a thing for axes. Guess I was born in the wrong district.”

“You bring any others?”

I bite my lip, unsure whether I need lie about my arsenal. “Just a couple of throwing hatchets,” I answer evasively. “They’re fun.” I lift an eyebrow. “You gonna tell on me?”

“Only if you’re mean to me,” she quips.

I actually laugh. “Might as well turn myself in now.” I zip my bag shut once I’ve stowed the axe inside it, then hoist it up and slip my arms through the handles. It’s not especially comfortable and the load is kind of poking me in the butt, but oh well, it’s hands-free, which will be critical if I’m going to help drag a deer through the forest. I’m starting to regret agreeing to do this already. I don’t voice this thought aloud, and I’m glad, because when I look up I catch Katniss gawking.

“You’re really strong for your size,” she remarks, clearly impressed.

I flash her a quick grin before sauntering off so she can’t see my blush. “I work out.” My companion scurries to catch up, and we quickly settle into a brisk pace. “How long do you think this will take us?” I ask. “Sun’s going down real soon.”

“We’re dragging a deer over half the way, so…” Her brow creases adorably as she makes some calculations. “Maybe forty-five minutes, if we push it.”

“Seriously?” I protest.

“It’s way faster in the summer. The snow can be a real pain.” She eyes me uncertainly. “Look, you don’t have to help–”

“I said I would,” I insist brusquely.

The brunette clamps her mouth shut and looks away. After several silent moments, she assures me, “It’ll be a lot faster for you to get back, cutting through town. Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Ugh, if I can even walk.” I grumble. “I’ll be sleeping soundly tonight, I’ll tell you that.”

“Huh,” she grunts. “You’ll be the only one is the whole district.” I don’t respond to that. I feel Katniss tensing beside me, so I glance over and see she is shifting uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Speaking of the sun going down,” she segues awkwardly, “I have something for you.”

I unintentionally stop in my tracks, and immediately regret the loss of momentum. “Did you come here to find me?” I gape.

“Of course not,” she huffs, stopping and eyeing me impatiently. “I thought I might see you at the Hob.” She reaches inside her jacket and produces a pair of sunglasses. I’m so dumbstruck I take them without protest when she hands them over. It’s only once I’m turning them over in my hands that my brain kicks back into gear. They appear to be brand new, and even though they’re fairly plain, I can’t imagine how much game Katniss must have had to sell or trade to afford them. Game she needs to help feed her family. I think of the abject poverty I saw in the Seam, eye up those same threadbare pants she was wearing when I first saw her.

“I can’t accept these,” I state. My conscience wouldn’t let me even if we were close, and I barely know the girl.

“It’s not a gift,” she informs me. “You owe me eighty bucks.”

“Eighty?” I squawk. Sure, they’re new, but they’re not even that nice.

“You think that’s pricey, you don’t want to know what the guy would have charged you for them,” she negotiates. “I only paid sixty, a good day’s haul, but the Hob merchants notoriously drive much harder bargains with Peacekeepers. I got you a deal.”

“So you’re making money off of me,” I conclude gruffly. It doesn’t matter that I barely know her after all. You don’t really need to know someone all that well to play the laws of supply and demand with them, now do you?

“You don’t have to buy them,” she says, a little too insouciantly. She takes them back and appraises them visually. “I go hunting when the sun’s low all the time, I could use these.” This fucking brat, I swear. Though to be fair, she actually did get me a deal. Perhaps this is her strange way of doing me a favor. And she gets money out of it, sure, but she could use it more than anyone. I suppose this arrangement is mutually beneficial, if a bit miffing.

“No, they’d fuck up your aim. You’re not used to them.” I pluck the glasses from her grip nonetheless. “But I’d rather get ripped off by you than a Townie or some random dude at the Hob. You’ll get your money next time I get paid.”

“Great,” she nods, apparently unbothered by my suspicious expression.

“Thanks, I think.”

“Mm hm,” she hums, already striding away.

I only start to lose my breath by the time we are coming up on the deer, which I may not have noticed so quickly were it not for the puddle of blood and its high contrast with the snow. I’m internally complimenting myself on staying in such good shape when a hand snaps out and pushes back against my chest, impeding my progress. I look curiously at Katniss, who is peering at something beyond me, a bit deeper into the forest. She doesn’t bother to explain, but I understand almost immediately. I know that predatory look. She slowly removes her hand and sneaks it behind her back to grab her bow as she keeps her eyes glued to her target. I try to pinpoint it while she creeps backward a few steps, probably trying to get a clearer shot. I can’t get eyes on her prey, so I twist my body and turn my head to watch her over my shoulder, not trusting myself to be able to pivot silently.

The deadly focus in her gaze as she loads her bow and takes aim is intimidating, but not in a way that makes me want to run away. Unfortunately. No, I recognize the tension in my gut as I watch the composed rise and fall of her chest and catch her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and it’s not from fear. On the other hand, my own body’s reaction is scaring me shitless. Acknowledging that I find Katniss Everdeen attractive is far more frightening than Katniss Everdeen with a loaded bow. I can’t control what she does, but I can control my own actions, in theory, and am thus responsible for them.

There isn’t a law or even a contract clause prohibiting Peacekeepers from sleeping with civilians, but I’m well aware that relationships are frowned upon, to say the least, because they throw our loyalty into question. We’re supposed to be focused on the job, anyway, which is why we’re forbidden to marry or procreate while under contract. But even if that weren’t the case, she’s jailbait until sometime in May. Besides, I don’t even like her. I’m a youngest child, but I imagine this is what it’s like to have an annoying kid sister. Other than the whole finding her attractive thing.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the motion of Everdeen’s arrow leaving her hand. I track it visually, and only once it lodges in a tree branch with a resounding thunk do I see the bird, which now flies away in a panic. She quickly redraws and tries to get a bead on the creature, but she must lose sight of it in the foliage, because she lowers her bow with a frown.

“Damn it,” she whispers.

“Well, at least your form is excellent.” I follow this up with a low whistle.

“How would you know?” she scoffs. She starts into the forest to retrieve her arrow, but I follow close behind.

“I’ve watched my fair share of Hunger Games, brainless. More than you,” I point out. “And I no doubt paid closer attention, being from Two.” Katniss says nothing, but I feel her eyes on me. I pretend not to notice.

“How old are you, anyway?” she asks eventually.

“Eighteen,” I answer, finally looking back at her.

“You look younger,” she remarks bluntly. I chuckle to myself. That observation usually offends me, but I can tell she’s not mocking or underestimating me. She’s just straight to the point, and I can appreciate that. It makes for much simpler communication, given I’m the same way.

“I get that a lot,” I say. “But you can’t enlist until you turn eighteen.”

Katniss nods at first, but confusion slowly seeps into her expression. “Wait, when’s your birthday?” she suddenly asks.

“Late August,” I inform her, now perplexed myself. “Why?”

“How can you be here if you’re eligible to be reaped this summer?” she puzzles.

“They just take your name out of the bowl,” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Eighty percent of the time someone has been chosen beforehand to volunteer. If you get reaped naturally you can refuse to be replaced, though.”

“Naturally,” she scoffs, turning forward to focus on her embedded arrow again.

“What?” I inquire.

“Nothing.”

Dusk is creeping up on us by the time we exit the woods. It takes some teamwork to get the deer through the fence; Katniss has to lift and pull a loose section from the other side while I muscle the bloody carcass under it. From there, it’s just a few minutes of walking across a large clearing before we hit the edge of the Seam. We’ve only passed a few rusted gates hanging loosely off slumping chain link fences when Katniss pushes open a gate in front of a small two-story dwelling with rotting siding. We wordlessly drag the deer the short distance across the yard and over the threshold into the darkened house.

I hear Katniss walking a few steps and then fumbling with something before the distinct sound and light of a match striking burst forth from where she’s standing. She lights a candle and moves wordlessly to the fireplace across the room, holding the match to the coals there until they come alight. As she passes me on her way to the staircase along the wall, I can make out the concern in her features under the candle’s glow. “Prim?” she calls, climbing the stairs. “Mom?”

I stand there awkwardly for a second until a draft reminds me that we left the door wide open. I retreat to shut it behind me, almost running smack into a young girl with blonde hair plaited into two braids. Her eyes are huge with worry as she eyes up my clothes, her already pale skin ashen. She looks Townie and out of place here, but that’s not all that strikes me about her. I know I’ve seen her before.

“Is Katniss…?” she barely squeaks, looking from my clothes to my face and back again. And here I thought Peacekeepers weren’t viewed as all that hostile around here. I follow her panicked gaze, and that’s when I spot the deer blood smeared on my clothes. Well, this is awkward. 

“She’s fine,” I assure the kid just as I hear the welcome creaks of Katniss descending the stairs.

“Prim, it’s okay,” Katniss calls out from behind me. “She’s a friend.” A friend? I can live with that. The younger girl releases a relieved breath, and when a smile crawls onto her face I instantly recognize her. She’s the girl with the cheese. A bunch of previously unrelated facts connect in my brain and I slowly turn to look at the brunette again, but in a different light than before. “What?” she asks, scrunching up her brow as she approaches.

“Nothing,” I reply.

Katniss shakes her head dismissively and brushes by me to lay an affectionate palm on her sister’s head. “Shouldn’t you be eating by now?” she asks. “Where’s Mom?”

“Not sure,” Prim is just saying when a pathetic, inhuman mewl sounds from the stairs. She abandons further explanation to run over and scoop up a huge cat from the landing. After several strokes of its scruffy coat, she returns her attention to Katniss and continues, “I was just out looking.” She wanders toward the fire, still petting the animal and whispering soft things into its half an ear.

“Typical,” Katniss mutters. She looks around the room and reckons, “I guess I’ll start dinner, then.” Her tone isn’t overly cross, but I know she’s not pleased. She’d only planned to drop the deer off for her mother to skin and portion before going off to trade the contents of her bag. I briefly consider asking her if she’d like me to babysit her sister and the food so she can get on with it, but it’s a bad idea. Even if Katniss trusted me enough for that, which I doubt, if her mother came home to a strange Peacekeeper hacking away at a carcass on her table, she’d probably freak the fuck out. So, I start unloading my bag by the hearth instead.

Prim carefully lowers herself to the ground and sits cross-legged beside me, cradling the mangy orange tabby. She blinks up to me and asks, “What’s your name?” The light of the fire shines in her big blue eyes and casts shadow shapes across her face. She’s truly a picture. Maybe having a kid sister wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Johanna,” I smile back at her. Since I already know her name, I point to the cat and ask, “What’s hers?”

“He’s a boy,” she corrects me. “And his name’s Buttercup.”

“Buttercup, huh?” That’s a terrible name. I reach over and scratch under his chin, eliciting a rumbling purr. “Hey, little guy,” I coo. I catch Prim’s eye and return her grin. She’s a really sweet kid. I can see why Katniss is so protective of her. I look up at the older sister just in time to see her rolling her eyes at our antics. I don’t get a chance to ask why, because the door is opening again.

An older blond woman that I immediately peg as their mother has barely stepped in the door by the time Katniss observes, “Oh, you’re alive.” She says it quite casually, but I catch the hint of malice. Apparently, so does her mother.

“I was working,” she replies calmly but defensively, kicking the snow off her boots.

Katniss shrugs. “Couldn’t be sure you were up at all, coming back to a dark house on a day like today.”

“On a day like today, my services are needed,” comes the measured reply.

“More than Prim needs you?” Katniss demands, no longer bothering to shield her anger.

“It’s okay, Katniss,” Prim interjects, though neither of them seem to hear her. Curse of the youngest child.

“I was with Toley’s mother,” snaps Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss’s eyes grow before she drops them to the floor guiltily, biting her lip. “She needed something for her nerves and to help her sleep. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it was a bit difficult for her to see her son’s murderer smile and wave at her.”

The sticks I’m holding suddenly slip from my grasp and clatter to the floorboards. The whole Everdeen family stares at me, and I wish I could melt into the floor. Instead, I give a tentative wave.

“Hi,” I say, standing up slowly. “I’m… I helped Katniss bring that deer home.” I point to the carcass still on the ground by their feet.

“And who might you be?” inquires Mrs. Everdeen. She looks intrigued rather than scared, which is at least a step up from Prim’s reaction.

“Johanna Mason, ma’am,” I say, coming closer and extending a hand to the woman. I’d prefer to leave a good first impression, and though being covered in blood in her living room is not the greatest starting point, being more polite than her daughter might help.

The blond woman steps closer, expression unreadable. When she finally joins our hands in a soft shake, I breathe a small sigh of relief. “Agent, is it?” she queries.

I nod, a touch surprised that she’s familiar with our ranks. “Yes ma’am, I’m new to the force. Still at the bottom.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Agent Mason,” she says, though I detect a touch of hesitance in her tone.

“It’s Johanna,” I respond instantly. “Please. I’m not here on official business.” I shift under her continued stare and flick my eyes past her to Katniss, hoping for an intervention.

“She’s friends with Darius Hallett, Mom,” Katniss offers up in explanation. “You can trust her.”

This is immediately thrown into question when Prim exclaims, “Wow! Where did you get this?” I turn around slowly, already gulping even before I see her lifting the battle axe from my bag, face alight with awe and curiosity. “It’s so pretty!”

“Put that down, Prim!” Katniss scolds her. “It’s a weapon, not a fashion accessory.”

I resist the urge to remind her that she referred to it as gorgeous earlier this afternoon in favor of pointing out, “Actually, I was using it as a tool, not a weapon.” I catch Mrs. Everdeen’s eye. “For chopping wood.”

“Why would you chop wood with something like this?” Prim asks in disbelief, begrudgingly following her sister’s order.

“It was all I had,” I admit. “We don’t have axes just lying around the barracks.”

“And yet, you do,” her mom notes with more than a hint of suspicion.

“It’s for sentimental value, mostly,” I explain honestly, catching her eye and hoping she believes me. “Holding on to a piece of my life back home.”

“Like a security blanket?” Katniss chimes in with a cheeky smile. There she goes again, getting under my skin. But on the other hand, she is making the axe sound less threatening. I’m not sure whether or not to be grateful.

“Yeah,” I concur with narrowed eyes. “Something like that.” I look to the blonde again. “It’s not something I ever plan to use for law enforcement, in any case. It’s usually safely tucked away in my room.”

“I’m sure,” she reasons. “Unless the Peacekeepers are diversifying their weaponry, that’s not standard issue, is it?”

“No, ma’am,” I confirm, averting my gaze to the floor. “It’s not.” So much for a good first impression. I hope she doesn’t decide to inform on me. She probably won’t, actually. She’ll just hold on to that information until she has reason to use it. Blackmail’s not a new one on me anymore. I see a lot more sucking up in my future.

“It doesn’t matter,” Katniss interjects exasperatedly. “We got firewood, so it worked out in our favor, right? How often does that happen?” That question must have been rhetorical, because she quickly moves on to more pressing matters and instructions while the three of us lift the deer up onto the table. She’s going to swing by the butcher and baker’s houses and see if she can offload a rabbit or squirrel for a good price, and then move on to the Hob. Her mother is to cook up some of the deer for dinner and prepare the rest for sale. Katniss will peddle the venison at the Hob and then make a second trip to deliver whatever has been claimed. With that, she kisses Prim goodbye and makes for the door.

I fidget and look around, unsure what to do now that I’ve been abandoned in unfamiliar territory. I glance back at the fire and catch Prim’s warm gaze, which seems to melt me out of my self-conscious paralysis. I smile back at her and make my way over to dump the rest of the wood by the fire. I crumple the now empty bag around the axe again and reach out to cup the feline’s skull and ruffle his fur. “Bye, Buttercup,” I whisper sweetly, getting a low purr in response.

“He likes you,” Prim grins.

“He has good taste,” I smile cheekily. Then I straighten up and nod at her once. “See you around, Prim.” She waves her goodbye, and I turn to her mother. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Everdeen.”

She smiles a little, but I still catch an air of distrust beneath it. I can probably thank my axe for that. “Goodnight, Johanna,” she replies, stepping aside so I have a clearer path to the door.

It turns out Katniss is waiting for me by the gate. I zip up my dark jacket as I step outside, hiding the more visible blood on the white clothes beneath it. Katniss starts walking wordlessly, and I follow because I’m not familiar with this part of the Seam. I just know that we’re somewhere north of town, and heading that way. The silence between us feels uncomfortable to me after the tension I just witnessed, so I eventually speak.

“Your sister’s really nice,” I say. “Poor taste in names, though.”

Katniss snorts a little, though her overall demeanor hasn’t changed. “Yeah,” she agrees. “She’s a good kid.”

I scratch under my collar and casually inquire, “How old is she?”

“Eleven.”

“Twelve by the summer?” I probe cautiously. I mean by the reaping, but she knows that.

“Yeah,” she whispers. "Late May.”

My mouth twitches and I drop my eyes to the slushy road. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Sure you are,” she dismisses me blankly. Heat starts rising up my neck, but Katniss doesn’t see it because she speeds up her pace. I shouldn’t care what some cranky teenaged local thinks of me; I should just let this roll off my back. But I do, and I don’t. I grab her arm and plant my feet, jerking her back. There’s only vague annoyance in her eyes when she turns around, but I’m sure there must be murder in mine.

“I’m not the enemy, you know!” I yell, my voice going all embarrassingly high like it does when I’m legitimately angry. “What the hell is your issue? Didn’t you just tell your mom she can trust me?” Katniss snatches her arm away and glares, but doesn’t argue. I take a few deep breaths, soften my face a bit and grumble, “Not that she ever will now.” I raise the shrouded axe to indicate it. “I never intended for you to find out about this, let alone any other local. Now I’ll have to bend the law for her whenever she wants or else risk getting ratted on.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Katniss immediately parries. But then a shadow crosses her face and she chuckles acerbically, “Really, don’t worry about it. She’ll probably fall into a coma tomorrow and forget all about it.”

“Maybe you should cut her a little slack,” I suggest sharply.

“Oh, fuck you,” she spits. My eyebrows fly up at her unprecedented vulgarity. She shakes her head and looks away. “You wouldn’t understand.” Her mouth is puckered, her eyes narrowed into slits. If I don’t know better, I might think she was about to cry. I take my time phrasing my next words, and back off on my tone considerably.

“I understand that you have a lot more responsibility than you should,” I venture. “I always thought you were helping feed your family. But when I saw Prim, I realized I was wrong.” Her puzzled eyes jump back to me. “You don’t help. You do it all yourself.”

“Prim? Why?”

“Darius pointed her out to me when I first got here, explained how she was of mixed blood and…” I abort my ramble with a sigh. “I never realized you don’t have a father. And it’s even worse if your mom’s unreliable.”

“I have a father,” she counters impassively. “He’s just dead.” I catch the slight waver in her poker face and the bob of her throat. I think she notices, because she blinks away again. “Lots of Seam kids have a dead parent or two, Johanna. Accidents happen down there. I’m nothing special.” 

“Sure you are,” I rebut instantly, gawking at the audacity of that comment. My skin starts prickling with a blush the second Katniss catches my eye. I’m really in trouble. I clear my throat and explain, “I mean, I’ve never seen any other Seam girls out in the woods, but I hear plenty of them frequent Cray’s house.”

“Don’t judge those girls,” she admonishes me. “I’d do it to keep Prim alive if that was my only option.”

“I’m not judging them,” I protest. So much for damage control. “That was you, sniping about how they make their money on their backs, remember?”

“It’s one thing for me to say it,” she retorts. “That could be me. But you…” She squeezes my muscular upper arm. “You never had to worry about that, did you?” Her eyes suddenly dart side-to-side. Mine follow. Seeing no one, Katniss relaxes slightly, but still leans in to whisper, “Have you ever gone to bed hungry?”

I brush her hand away and cross my arms defensively. “No. And I know it’s not fair, I do. But that’s not my fault. I didn’t ask to be born in Two.”

“No, but you would have,” she hisses under her breath. “Anyone in their right mind would, if they couldn’t be Capitol.”

“I apologize for my good luck?” I snark, perhaps slightly exaggerating my bewilderment. I get why she’s angry, but I’m pissed that she’s directing her fury at me. Katniss scoffs and stalks away. I sigh and hustle to keep pace. “Look,” I petition from a few steps behind her, “all I was saying is I admire your resourcefulness and your commitment to your family and your own morals or whatever.” 

"Oh, really?” she laughs ironically, abruptly spinning around. I crash into her before I can skid to a halt, but she immediately pushes a hand out to hold me at an arm’s length. “I'll try to remember that you so admire those qualities about me next time you steal my boots and drag me to Cray's house like some kind of criminal."

I scowl and bite back, "You are a criminal, technically."

"Takes one to know one." The aversion in her tone and features strikes me silent and sets my brain buzzing in a panic. How did she–? No, there’s no way she could know about that. I haven’t told anyone in Twelve what happened. It takes a few seconds of reasoning to realize she’s referring to my illegal collection of weapons, and then I calm down a little. Everdeen, meanwhile, hasn’t. Her nostrils are still flared, cheeks red and jaw set. She snorts contemptuously, backs away and sneers, "Goodnight, Agent" before turning and motoring away on her comparatively longer legs. I don’t even try to catch her. Why bother?

***

I reach back with my heel to nudge my door somewhat closed behind me, then shrug off my jacket and toss it and my keycard onto the bed. I tuck my concealed weapon back into the safe place under my bed and then gratefully sink down onto the mattress. I sit, gripping my duvet with one hand and rubbing my forehead with the other. I pull my fingers together to pinch the skin between my eyes, as if it will get my brain to work again and process all that has happened since I left my quarters this morning. I have felt far too many conflicting things today, thanks to the Tour, my company, and the people they brought up. Person, I guess.

A slight squeak jerks my head up and alerts me to the presence of my little shadow, loitering in my doorway. “Ever heard of knocking?” I snarl, but with less venom than intended. I lack the energy.

“Your door was open,” he states plainly, but I catch his expression darkening.

I squint right back at him until I realize he is staring at my clothes and I remember the bloodstains. I shake my head and push myself to my feet. “Don’t ask,” I warn him. I strip off the bloody shirt for emphasis, and he hardly even bats an eyelash. It both surprises and vexes me. Maybe he’s a homo, too. “What do you want, Hallett?” I demand, grabbing my t-shirt from earlier off the floor.

“Heard you were getting cozy with the victor this afternoon,” he says while I’m pulling it over my head. Uh oh. Somehow, I knew that the few other Peacekeepers who witnessed that would not keep it to themselves.

I catch his eye and hope my worry isn’t too evident. “What?” I ask. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not as far as I know,” he shrugs. I narrow my eyes suspiciously. There’s something more going on in his head. Why else bother bringing it up? He hesitates a moment, but then steps farther into the room and clicks the door shut. He holds my gaze inquisitively and conjectures, “You were in the program, weren’t you?”

Oh, terrific. It’s not that I’m not proud of my involvement with the candidacy program. I am, but conversely, having left it is a great source of shame for me, no matter the circumstances. In fact, the circumstances pile the shame on even more, and I just bet they’re what his next questions will be about.

“I thought you were bullshitting before,” Darius expounds, “but if you really know three victors…” He trails off expectantly. I release a weary sigh. There’s no use denying it.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Congratulations, detective.” I can tell he’s confused by my reaction, but I’m not about to offer up information. I drop my pants instead. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it will change the subject. Unfortunately, Darius still neglects to comment on my lack of decency. He probably knows better, considering he’s the one who entered my private space uninvited. I kick the garment aside and step into my sweats.

“So how did you end up here?” he inquires just as I’m hiking the waistband up over my hips. I knew it. It didn’t even take him twenty seconds to ask.

“It’s a long story,” I mumble, eyes anywhere but on his face.

“Okay, well… I’m not trying to pry–” He stops short at my doubtful look. “Maybe I am, a little. But if you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me.” He jerks his head to his left to indicate his room. “I don’t mind long stories.” He opens the door, and I suddenly feel a cold seeping into my bones that can’t just be from the hallway. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I don’t want to be alone at all. Come to think of it, I don’t want to think, either.

“Darius?” I blurt before he even exits the room.

He stops and looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Do you have any alcohol?” I can’t help but smile when a warm, boyish grin takes over his face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time I return from dumping my soiled uniform in one of the crappy old washing machines, Darius is sitting on my bed with a decent-sized bottle of Ripper’s white liquor, slumping back against the wall. “You look far too comfortable in my bed, good sir,” I smirk. He just lifts a lazy eyebrow and extends the bottle to me, which I gladly take. We have tomorrow off. We might as well indulge. I knock back half a mouthful and wince, making a sour face as soon as it’s burned its way down my esophagus. “Phewf,” I breathe. I hand back the bottle and crawl over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“On second thought, maybe you should eat something first,” he hazards as soon as I’m settled, watching me carefully. “I mean, unless you hunted your own dinner in the forest,” he adds, motioning at my new change of clothes.

“I’m not hungry,” I mumble dismissively. He shrugs noncommittally and puts the bottle to his own lips. “And I told you not to ask.”

He gulps the liquid down and rebuts, “I didn’t ask.”

“Smartass.”

“Takes one to know one.” Well, fuck. I wanted to forget Katniss and Clove for the moment. So much for not thinking. Darius must notice my expression as I slip the bottle from his hands wordlessly. “What?”

“I ran into Everdeen out there.”

“Did you kill her?” he asks offhandedly.

“No. She killed a deer.” I take a sip. “I helped her wrangle it under the fence, hence the blood.” I pass him the bottle and sit silently while he drinks. “She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?”

“She’s had it rough,” he lobbies in her defense.

“I know. And somehow, that makes me the bad guy.” I let all of my weight fall back against the wall and sigh, “She’s always gonna hate me because I’m a Peacekeeper.”

“She doesn’t hate me,” he disputes. “She just hates you because you’re a bitch and you throw your weight around.” He nods at my small frame. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand.

“You’re all high and mighty about being a Peacekeeper.”

“I am not!” I all but yell.

“Whatever you say,” he scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you strut around like you own the place.”

“No, fuck you.” I snatch the bottle from his hands. “I was in the program, so obviously this is not my dream job. I am not proud of wearing white and marching around like some faceless robot who never has a thought of her own, okay? High and mighty is the last thing I am.”

“Is that what you think of me?” He almost sounds hurt. “A faceless robot?”

“No. I think you’re hilarious, and irritating, and kind.” I catch the start of a smile on his lips, instantly blush and stare down into the bottle. “But that’s different,” I protest. “I work with you. And you’re my neighbor. I get to talk to you when you’re not wearing an outfit that advertises how different you are and how I should think of you.” Darius opens his mouth, but I don’t let him interrupt. “I’m invisible now. I’m a nobody. Forget placing bets, no one fucking cares at all if I live or die.”

“Then why did you quit?”

“That’s… that’s personal.” I take a long drink to pointedly end that tangent. I finally can’t take the burn anymore and pass it off to Darius, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He takes a swig for himself and sits there pensively for a moment before finally concluding, “So you have small dick syndrome?”

“Excuse me?” I blink.

“You heard me.”

I laugh and sit up straighter. “I’ll have you know, I have a huge fucking weiner,” I inform him, rubbing just below my thigh crease like I’m stroking the non-existent appendage. “Wanna see it?”

“I’ll pass,” he snorts. He then wipes the humor from his face and twists a little, causing his right leg to fall against my knees. That makes me much less uncomfortable than the sudden intensity in his dark brown eyes. “If you have to push other people around to make yourself feel better about whatever happened to you, fine, but you can’t blame the uniform for how people react to that,” he lectures. “This job is what you make it.” I roll my eyes and tip my head back, but before I can lift the bottle very far, Darius grabs it and holds it firmly in place. I cast him a peeved glower, but he stares back at me just as seriously. “People don’t think of me as a random dude in white, Jo. They think of me as that goofy redhead, as that guy who doesn’t nickel and dime the Hobsters, as that Peacekeeper who lives up to the name. They remember me for helping them carry a keg back to their wagon, for telling their kid a joke after he skinned his knee.”

My eyes are starting to prickle and burn. I blame the alcohol. Darius softens his expression but doesn’t relent with the eye contact. “People do see you, Jo,” he promises. “People will always see you. You just have to think on a smaller scale.” It only now occurs to me that he called me Jo a moment ago as well. And that it didn’t even bother me.

I snuffle and swallow. “Everything’s about thinking smaller these days,” I grumble.

“But isn’t it kind of better, in a way? Less people knowing you, instead of everyone thinking they know you but really knowing nothing? Only judging you from real interactions, not from who they’ve seen you kill on TV? It’s more fair.” He pauses to make sure I’m paying attention. “You have more control.” I sure hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m still processing this idea and determining its validity when he adds, “And for the record, I care if you live or die.”

I chuckle through my unshed tears and seize the opportunity for some levity. “You mean like if I caught an arrow through the throat?” I drawl. We both laugh.

“Something like that.” Darius grins and straightens himself out so he can lean back on the wall again. I try to pass him the bottle of liquor, but his mind is elsewhere. A few seconds pass before he smirks, “It didn’t help that you flirted with Gale. I thought she was gonna murder you right then and there.”

“Like she could murder me,” I scoff. I take a pull and try not to think about the implications of what he just said.

“Well, I didn’t know that at the time,” he points out.

“Is that why you walked over?” I ask incredulously. “To save my ass from some wisp of a Seam kid?” I snort. “And here I thought it was so you could drunkenly hit on me.”

“Might have been a bit of both.” I side eye him and he grins, “But that was before I knew you’re a homo.”

“Fuck off.” I backhand him on the chest and glare as hard as I can, given my amusement. “You just said it yourself, I was flirting with Gale.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing. Hell, I’d flirt with Gale,” he confesses with a devious wink.

I laugh again, genuinely smiling until my brain returns to the conversation we were having before we went off on that tangent. I shift my weight and coolly inquire, “So is he her boyfriend or what?”

“Nah,” Darius answers with a wave of his hand. “They’re just really close. Oddly possessive.” He seems to need a moment to think that through. I don’t. I take another drink. “Okay, maybe there’s something there,” he reasons, “but so far as I know, they’re not together. Not yet.” It’s probably for the best. I swallow my jealousy and my liquor. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep either down for very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be working on Lifeblood again now that this is posted, so the next update may take some time.
> 
> A huge thanks to District 7 Profanity for all her help with this chapter. I would say thanks for the beta read, but she practically co-authored this one.


	4. Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I am sorry it's taken me so long to get this posted. Blame the 3 consecutive chapters of Lifeblood and a bunch of TV shows, especially OITNB (which I haven't even finished because I've been working on this chapter, so please don't spoil me).
> 
> I would also like to preface this chapter by saying I like canon Clove (well, the movie version) and have nothing against her. But for the purposes of the story, she had to be a bad guy. I'd rather the backstabber be Glimmer, but alas, wrong district. BUT remember, we only get to hear Jo's feelings and interpretation of events, not all of Clove's motives and driving forces (for now). D7P will definitely give me a hard time for even saying this, because she's a heathen who doesn't like the adorable little murderer, but I just wanted to clear that up preemptively. I probably should have mentioned it before chapter 1, but oh well.
> 
> And finally, just a reminder, this fic involves iffy moral ground where relationships are concerned, on multiple levels. If you are sensitive to that kind of thing, be warned.

I awaken to a splitting headache on the penultimate day of the Tour, several hours later than my established rhythm would usually dictate. I stayed up way too late watching the banquet at President Snow’s mansion, as I have every Victory Tour stop this winter. I know it’s probably terrible for my mental health and ability to move on from my own shattered dreams, but I haven’t been able to stop. I‘ve been telling myself it’s because I’m happy for Scarlett, which is actually true. Despite the slight strain I picked up behind Scar’s smile during her interviews and the gossip about her life back in 2 on some late night show, I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad for the girl.

I stagger out of my quarters to see if anyone has some painkillers, and am drawn straight to the common area by the smell of meat. The best hangover cure. I enter the kitchen and am greeted by the strange but amusing visual of my commanding officer wearing an apron and one oven mitt, bent over and peering into one of the side-by-side ovens, a vaguely familiar contraption in her bare hand. When she squeezes the bulb, I remember. It’s called a turkey baster. Wait.

“Is that a turkey?” I ask, my jaw practically on the floor. Purnia catches my eye, steps aside and points at both ovens. I peek through the glass in the second one and discover that she has not just one, but two birds cooking. “Where did you get those?”

“At the butcher, obviously,” she says blandly. I catch her eye incredulously. It’s no secret that Purnia frequents the Hob. It’s probably the only thing she does that’s not by the book. A small smile plays at her lips and she winks conspiratorially. 

I smirk in return and remark, “I didn’t know you could cook. Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“You have no idea, kid.”

“You buy them yourself?”

She squints at me curiously. “Everyone on the morning shift pitched in for the meal. Darius collected your money, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I mumble. I rub my eyes and forehead with the heels of my hands. “I’m a little off this morning.”

I think I see a brief flash of sympathy in her usually cold green eyes. “You wait here,” she instructs me, before disappearing in the direction of M wing. She returns a couple minutes later and hands me a small bottle. “You look like you could use some of these.”

I eagerly unscrew the cap and down a couple of tablets along with the glass of water she hands me. “Thanks, Purnia,” I reply earnestly. Maybe she isn’t so bad after all.

“That wasn’t a gift,” she says. She points at the island counter across from the stoves, which is littered with onions, celery, and an array of spices. I recognize them as the basic ingredients for stuffing when I see the exposed, sliced loaves of bread peaking out from behind the giant bowl. “Earn your keep,” Purnia orders me, guiding me over by the hips. “Help me shred some stuffing.” I’ve barely settled on one of the barstools on the other side of the island when she points at my water and adds, “Make sure you drink the whole thing. And give it a rest today.” I eye her edgily, and she replies with crossed arms, “I’m not an idiot, Johanna. You’ve been hung over almost every shift the past two weeks.”

“Maybe,” I admit, studying the counter.

“I don’t care if you’re too young to drink, as long as you’re responsible about it,” she declares, “but this is getting out of hand.” She drums her fingers on one of her biceps. “Are you homesick? Or is there something else going on that we need to talk about?” Sure, there’s lots to talk about. I’m homesick for a home I no longer have, in the arms of a girl who betrayed me and in the program I was forced to leave. I think I still love Clove as much as I hate her, and I hate myself even more than her because I allowed myself to get played the way I did. I hate District 12 and I hate that I’m starting to develop feelings for someone who I absolutely should not get involved with and who seems to hate me. It’s probably for the best that we’ve hardly spoken since our fight on Tour day. But still, I can’t help but wish she would smile when she saw me, not the opposite. Not that Katniss really smiles for anyone.

I refocus on Purnia, who’s still patiently awaiting an answer. “Nothing we can talk about,” I say, barely trying to mask my sadness. I can’t even talk to Darius about this stuff in any detail, much less my CO.

Purnia appears unsatisfied, but doesn’t pry. “Then I expect you’ll get this under control,” she asserts. She returns to the ovens to baste the second turkey.

I obediently drink my water and begin tearing apart the slices of stale bread in front of me. I don’t mind. It’s something to do besides miserably watch the opening hours of the Harvest Festival/Victory Tour festivities in the town square I’m far too familiar with. The festival is technically tomorrow, but the celebrations tend to spill over into Sunday because it's a day off for most people nation-wide. Tonight Scarlett will have her official dinner at the mayor's house and we may see clips of the speeches, but that's about it. Today would be boring in terms of TV even if I did feel like watching.

When Purnia is finished basting and joins me in ripping bread, I observe, “Our crew is lucky you have Sundays off. What would they do for the Festival without a domestic goddess around to cook for them?”

“Not much,” she smirks. “I worked Sundays and Mondays when I was in Four, and we never really did a meal for it.” My hands still. “I guess that’s what happens when a bunch of teenagers who’ve never had to cook get funneled into the ranks.”

“Wait, you were stationed in Four?”

She nods and elaborates, “Transferred here three, four years ago.”

“Like, voluntarily?” I ask. She nods again. I can only blink dumbly for a moment, but finally sputter, “Why the hell would you transfer out of Four? And to District Twelve, of all places?” District 4 is a prime location, one that Peacekeepers apply to transfer to in droves. It’s generally warm, most outposts are close to the waterfront, and they say the lifestyle is laid back. Not like the District 12 version of laid back, where the locals are too hungry to cause any trouble and the Peacekeepers are a bunch of slackers, but a legitimate laxity inherent in their culture. Days off would be much more enjoyable in a place like that.

“For my career,” Purnia replies simply.

“Are you shitting me?” I squawk. “This is where careers go to die. No one gives a fuck here – it’s where they send the deadbeats because all they need is bodies.”

“That’s exactly why it’s good for my career,” she argues. She chuckles at my continuing bewilderment. “I know you assume I’ve been around for ages, but not everyone enlists at eighteen, you know. I was twenty-three. I’ve only been in the Corps for six years, and I’m already a Captain. That would be impossible anywhere else.”

I smirk knowingly and waggle a finger at her. “So it’s rank you’re after.”

“The money that comes with it, actually.” She tosses a handful of bread in the bowl and admits, “Well, rank too, in a sense. Cray’s getting on in years, you know. He’ll retire in a few years, in all likelihood.”

A grin grows on my face as her plan dawns on me. “And then it’s between you and Captain Rawley for Head Peacekeeper,” I extrapolate. I blink and chew my lip. “But he’s both older and more experienced.”

“And a drunk, like Cray,” she notes. “Barely keeps the afternoons running. If I can get promoted to Commander before Cray retires, I’ll outrank Rawley.”

“You sneaky little bastard,” I remark with admiration. She shoots me a dirty look and I quickly add, “Ma’am.” She snorts and returns her attention to the bread. I think this last exchange through and ask, “But what if someone else applies? Wants to transfer here?”

“Didn’t you just say no one transfers here?”

“You did,” I point out.

“I’m a special case,” she counters. “Most of us in the higher ranks wouldn’t move to a shitty outpost just to be a Head. They’d rather have the swanky lifestyle than the extra money for being top dog.” She smirks wryly. “There’s a reason it’s so hard to transfer out of Twelve – no one wants to transfer in.”

A few slices of bread later, Purnia turns around and pulls a large blade from the knife block on the counter next to the ovens. She turns back my way slowly and ominously, expertly spinning it in her fingers. “Now, Agent Mason, as my own personal form of punishment for your lack of decorum while addressing for your commanding officer, I’m going to have to make you cry.” I blink between her and the knife a few times. She can’t be serious. She turns the knife around so she’s holding the blade and reaches across the island, handing it to me. I grip the handle and eye her with wary confusion until she tosses me one of the onions. Oh.

“Hilarious,” I deadpan.

“Believe it or not, I do have a sense of humor.” She braces her hands on the countertop and leans forward a little, trapping me in her suddenly icy gaze. “But in all seriousness, Mason, if you call me anything like that again, I’m writing you up. I don’t care if we’re off-duty.” Her sincerity is evident in her voice when she cocks her head slightly and continues, “I’ll treat you with respect if you treat me with respect. Got it?”

My face is a bit twisted from insult and embarrassment, but I nod and assure her, “I got it.” She continues to stare harshly, so I try again. “Yes, Captain Stark.”

“Good.” She straightens up and points to the vegetable in my hand. “Make sure you mince those nice and fine. I hate chunky onions.”

***

The Hob is quiet tonight, even for a Tuesday. It’s not exactly deserted, but buyers are sparse, probably because most Twelve residents with money to spare sprang for some festive cuisine for yesterday’s celebrations. I have eighty dollars in my pocket, thanks to my recent payday, but I’m not here to buy. Ripper’s table is tempting, but I steer clear because I’m trying to follow Purnia’s advice. Today was the first morning in over a week that I felt more than halfway functional, and I realized, much to my own amusement, that I kind of miss sobriety.

I’ve been killing time chatting with Greasy Sae when Gale finally enters the warehouse. I straighten up and finger the money in my pocket in anticipation of Katniss on his heel, but she doesn’t follow. I watch him inquisitively as he approaches the stall, game bag slung over his shoulder. He gives me a small nod of acknowledgement before opening up his bag and starting to barter with the old woman. I smile to myself. There is an upside to Katniss’s absence: the freedom to have a little fun without having to constantly be on my toes. Gale is the safer one to flirt with, for a variety of reasons.

I sidle up to Gale just as the merchant turns away, nudging his thigh with my hip. “Hey, Stormy,” I drawl, fluttering my eyelashes. He looks down at me with I think is meant to pass as an annoyed expression, but he looks vaguely amused, if nothing better. “Where’s your worser half?”

“ _Katniss_ is sick,” he answers pointedly. He casually leans against the counter and adds, “And I’m not sure she’s the worser half.”

“What are you saying, Gale?” I stand up on my toes to reach his ear and whisper into it, “Are you a bad boy?”

He runs his scrutinizing eyes over me as I sink back down onto my heels. “What is all this?” he inquires suspiciously. “I thought you were into girls.” I glare at him, but he just shrugs. “That’s what Katniss said.”

“I am,” I huff. “And I’m also into boys. Why is that so difficult for people to comprehend?”

He twitches his eyebrows dismissively. “Well, I suppose it gives a big flirt like you a larger field to play.”

“Don’t tell me there isn’t a parade of girls willing to admit to making out with you behind the school,” I scoff. Greasy Sae snorts from her position by her cash box while Gale narrows his eyes.

“How do you know about that?” he demands.

“I didn’t,” I laugh, “it was a good guess. Handsome men like you are known to get into trouble.”

“Not me. I know how to avoid trouble,” he asserts, dragging his eyes up and down my body, “how to recognize it when I see it.” He cocks his head. “I’ve never been arrested, you know.”

“We could change that,” I smirk, trailing a finger down his chest. “You like the idea of being handcuffed?”

He snorts indignantly and brushes me off. “Yeah, give me what I’ve spent the last several years avoiding?” he spits. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Wow.” I step back and raise my hands innocently. “Chill out, it was just a joke.”

“To you, maybe.”

My fists tighten as I drop them to my sides. I understand what he’s getting at and am already turning red from that blunder, but my pride wins out over my regret and I grumble, “You’re no fun.”

“I have more important things to be than fun,” he scoffs just as Greasy Sae returns to the counter with a ball of yarn and a small bag of coins.

“Thank you, young sir,” she says, handing over his loot. He nods cordially. “Be sure to come back for a bowl for Katniss before you leave.” He starts to open his mouth, but she presses on, “On the house. I insist.”

Gale licks his lips hesitantly. “She won’t like it.” Sae throws him a dirty look and he clarifies, “I don’t mean the soup.”

“Katniss isn’t in much of a position to turn down favors right now, is she?” Sae tosses back. “Besides, I’m sure she’ll come up with a way to pay me back, at least in her own head.”

“She always does,” he agrees.

“You’d think she’d be back on her feet sooner, living with the medicine woman,” the old woman remarks.

Gale snorts and counters, “Doesn’t mean they can afford to use their own remedies.”

At this, I remember the money I owe Katniss and start digging for it. “How long has she been out for?” I inquire.

“Haven’t seen her in three days,” Sae replies.

“Shit.” I turn to Gale. “Is she at least getting better?”

“What do you care?” he scoffs.

“I don’t,” I argue as nonchalantly as possible. “I have money I wanted to give her.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. “What for?” he demands.

“For the sunglasses.” Gale’s face doesn’t light up in recognition, so I elaborate, “She bought some sunglasses from some guy here and jacked the price up on me. Sad part is, I probably would have paid more buying them direct. Everyone overcharges the Peacekeepers.” Gale and Sae exchange a look. I can’t tell exactly what it is. Disappointment, maybe? “Oh, shit… did I just get her in trouble?” I ask uneasily. “Is there some kind of unwritten code forbidding Hobsters to play middleman on each other and take the profits?”

“Forget it,” grunts Gale. He extends a large paw toward me. “I can take the money.”

I tighten my fist around the bills in my pocket. “I’d rather give it to her myself.”

“Her family needs it as soon as possible,” he argues impatiently.

“Obviously,” I snark. “I meant I can take it to her, tonight.”

Gale’s face scrunches in disbelief and his body tenses just the slightest bit. Being trained to pick up on aggressive posturing, I notice that almost as much as the extremely obvious jealousy flashing in his eyes. So that answers whether he likes her, at least. “You know where she lives?” he sneers contemptuously.

“Yeah,” I brag, standing up straighter and hooking my thumbs through my belt loops. “I helped her drag that deer home on Tour day.”

Greasy Sae responds to his doubtful expression by confirming, “It’s true, Gale. She told me when she was taking bids on the venison cuts.”

Gale eyes me warily for a moment, but eventually just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going by her house to drop off the soup anyway. And it’s on my way home. I might as well take it with me.”

“Who says we can’t both stop by?” I point out.

“I was just trying to save you the trip, Johanna,” he replies icily. “It’s a long way from the barracks.” The merchant’s eyebrows arch and she glances over at me. Now with two sets of curious, probing eyes on me, I know this is a battle I’ll have to surrender. I really want to visit Katniss, see how she is and help in any way I can, but my insistence would look suspicious. The last thing I need is rumors being spread about me.

“All right,” I concede, slapping the cash down into his waiting palm. “I trust you.” Gale’s expression plainly states that the sentiment is not mutual. But why should a poacher trust a Peacekeeper? I’m not sure Katniss even trusts me. She’s kept a cool distance between us for the past couple of weeks, and I haven’t tried to breach it. It physically pains me to avoid her, but I’ve been listening to my brain when it says to take the easy out she’s offering me with her stubbornness. I can walk away now and blame our failed friendship or whatever it is on her. So, I leave the money with her hunting partner and walk away. I doubt I’m the person she wants to see, anyway.

***

I clutch the straps of my rucksack nervously as Darius and I approach the Hob a couple nights later. I haven’t bothered returning since handing my payment over to Gale, telling myself I had no reason to go. But tonight, I have two reasons: Thursday, and consequently Darius’s company; and the bundle I have stowed in my pack. My resolve to leave well enough alone with Katniss didn’t last very long. It never does. I was wandering the square while on duty this morning when something in one of the storefronts caught my eye. Another way I can help the girl, better than hypothetically showing up with money I already owe her and otherwise being completely useless. According to what Greasy Sae said on Tuesday night, I’ll probably have to come up with a convincing reason for Katniss to accept this gift, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Darius swings open the door, and we enter the dilapidated warehouse to find it energized, but still sparsely populated for a Thursday night. The post-holiday frugality has clearly not abated yet. “Spend a little extra tonight,” my redheaded companion whispers. “These people have food to buy.” He nods at Ripper. “This is her only source of income.”

“I’m pretty low on funds right now, actually,” I admit. “I made a couple of big purchases recently.”

“Oh yeah?” he pries. “Like what?”

“The sunglasses, duh.” I shrug. “And some clothes.”

“What a girl,” Darius chuckles. I smack his chest, which just makes him laugh more.

“Sexist prick,” I mutter, trying to hold back the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

“I’m joking,” he assures me. “If I were actually sexist I’d say…” He puffs out his chest and gazes down at me condescendingly. “Hey there, little lady,” he drawls in a deep baritone, “can I get you a drink? Since you obviously aren’t capable of holding down a job?” He lifts one finger meaningfully. “Only one, though. If it takes more than that to put you on your back, you’re not worth it.”

My whole face puckers. “Dude, that’s so unattractive.” He nods emphatically in agreement. “Do guys actually say shit like that?”

“Not usually to a woman’s face, but behind her back, sure,” he replies in his normal voice. 

“Maybe I’m being the sexist one now,” I scowl, “but men are pigs.”

“More accurate than women spending all their money on clothes,” he agrees. His mouth twitches. “Honestly, did that bother you? I have a habit of taking jokes too far. I’m not the best at knowing what’s funny and what’s offensive.”

I laugh out loud. “Don’t worry about it, Hallett, I can tell when something’s a joke. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really hard to offend.”

“I have noticed,” he smirks. “That’s part of why I like you. You’re even more offensive than I am.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s the other part?” I bring my fists up beside my temples and do a seductive body roll, flashing him my best bedroom eyes. “My smokin’ hot bod?”

“Don’t do that,” he pleads, covering his eyes. “That’s just creepy. And so unlike you.” I’m glad his view is obstructed, because it takes me a second to reign in my slightly miffed expression. I don’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Maybe I’m easier to offend than I thought. Over certain things. I must return my face to neutral an instant too late, because he’s suddenly backpedaling, “No no, I meant that as a good thing.” He smiles softly. “Just be Johanna. Crass, hilarious, charming Johanna. You don’t need to do that shit to get people to notice you.”

I have to duck my head and bite my lip to hide my slight blush and grin. Katniss could take a lesson in speech from this boy. At least he can climb out of a hole instead of digging it deeper. I could use some help with that too, to be fair. I force my lips into something like a smirk and drawl, “Are you saying you’ve noticed me?” I mock gasp. “Do you have a crush on me, Agent Darius Hallett?”

“I said no such thing,” he parries, his eyes playful. He jerks his head toward Ripper’s table again. “Come on.” I’m smirking for real now, but I let it be.

We’re just coming up on the booth when Commander Cray, who is of course camped out by the liquor, turns his head. His eyes initially widen at the sight of me, but then squint into a predatory focus. “Mason.”

I blink cluelessly. “Cray.” The old man doesn’t say anything else, just snickers and shakes his head. I watch with bewilderment as he tips his bottle at me and ambles away.

“What was that about?” asks Darius, echoing my own thoughts.

“I have no idea,” I scoff, continuing to monitor his position. “Just keep me away from him. I’m probably within his ideal age bracket.” Honestly, I’m not even sure that’s the issue, given he’s never looked at me like that before. If I thought he was just drunkenly checking me out, I’d find it less unnerving. I could more than handle his ass if he tried anything.

“Not a problem,” Darius mutters. He gives it a moment, and then elbows me in the ribs. “Hey there, little lady,” he says in that deep put-on voice from before. “Want a drink?”

I shove him, laughing, “Oh, fuck off!”

“Seriously, though,” he says through a toothy grin. “I can spring for your broke ass if you need it.”

“Nah, I’m good,” I decline. “Trying to cut back.”

“Then why are you here on a Thursday?”

“For the company, of course,” I smile genuinely. He returns the expression. I blink past him to get a bead on Cray again, but the familiar face I land on doesn’t belong to my boss. My heart jumps and my fingers find the straps of my backpack again. I’m trying to summon the words to excuse myself from my current conversation, let alone the nerve to approach her, when her grey eyes lock on me. It turns out I don’t have to get up the courage for anything, because Katniss approaches us immediately. Darius notices my distraction and turns around to find the source of it.

“Hey, Johanna,” Katniss nods when she gets close. Her eyes jump over to my friend. “Darius.”

“Hey yourself, Katniss,” he reciprocates.

“You feeling better?” I interject. “Greasy Sae said you were out for days.”

“Yeah, it was just a tough bug to shake,” she shrugs. “Thanks for the money.”

“No thanks needed,” I chuckle. “I owed you.”

Katniss nods, and her eyes flit down to the ground momentarily. “I was surprised,” she admits. “That you’d give it to Gale, I mean.”

“Well, I was gonna take it to your house so you wouldn’t have to wait until you saw me next, but Gale insisted he take it,” I explain. Katniss blinks in surprise and looks over her shoulder, scoping out her partner. “I trusted him to get it to you.”

Katniss nods slowly. “You’re wise to trust him,” she confirms. She looks back at me meaningfully. “Gale’s not just my hunting partner, he’s my best friend. I trust him with my life, every day.”

“I can see that,” I murmur, dropping my eyes to the floor. How I could even entertain the idea that I could compete with someone who’s so entwined in her life already, someone she already needs and trusts? I’m an ill-fated fool. I meet her eyes again and tell her honestly, “I trust your judgment.”

I may say I trust her judgment, but I can’t stop myself from glowering irritably at the pair of hunters as they move between booths over the next little while, haggling and making conversation. It’s mostly Gale making conversation, actually, despite how antisocial he always seems to be around me. Figures. It’s maybe twenty minutes of brooding later that I catch the girl laying a hand on his arm and feel my stomach roiling with jealousy. I can’t hear their dialogue from across the warehouse, but from how she’s slung her game bag over her shoulder and how he glances at the door, it’s clear she’s bidding him goodbye. I wait until Katniss is halfway to the door before excusing myself from the group of Peacekeepers we’ve joined, trying to settle my breathing and stomach as I follow her out into the cold. Now’s my chance. I didn’t want to do this in front of anyone else, not even Darius. Especially Darius.

Upon exiting the market, I spy the girl heading northwest toward the Seam, and swiftly give chase. “Hey, Katniss!” I call at her back. “Wait up!” She turns around curiously as I approach. “I have something for you,” I explain, shrugging off my rucksack. I dip my hand in and extract a folded black garment. “Maybe you won’t get sick again if you can stay warmer,” I suggest as I hand it over. Maybe I am an idiot for entertaining any thoughts of us when she seems destined to be with Gale, but I’m not going to withhold my goodwill on account of that.

Katniss eyes the bundle with a hint of suspicion, but takes it and unfurls it to reveal its shape. “Wow,” she gapes, examining the black snow pants.

I notice her rubbing the shell between her fingers and quickly tell her, “Waterproof shell, thermal lining,” trying to keep my voice measured and my eagerness concealed. “They should keep you warm and dry when you’re hunting.”

She tries unsuccessfully to shake the disbelief from her face and finally looks me in the eye. “I’ll never be able to pay you back for these.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a gift.”

Katniss suddenly recoils and tosses the pants back into my arms. “I’m not taking anything bought with Peacekeeper blood money,” she scowls.

I laugh aloud just as she’s turning to storm off. “Don’t be so dramatic, Everdeen,” I belittle her, grabbing her arm before she can outpace me. “I haven’t spilt a drop of blood here.” She shakes my hand off her arm, cheeks steadily reddening, so I soften my tone. “It’s just my job, Katniss. It’s not even one I want.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she retorts flatly. “I’m fine with associating with Peacekeepers, selling to you, but I will never take favors from you. You’re the last people I’d ever want to be indebted to.”

“What about that time I helped you haul that deer to your house?” I scoff.

She falters briefly, but then snarks, “You were doing that for the exercise.” I lift an unconvinced eyebrow, so she quickly gets to the point. “If I have blow ‘Darian’ for bread crumbs, what would I have to do for something like this?” Katniss closes the gap between us to mere inches and glares down at me with a challenging head tilt. She runs her fingertips down one of my arms and croons, “What do you want from me, Hanna? We might as well get that out in the open right now.”

“What I want is for you to not get fucking pneumonia,” I huff, my face smoldering from both indignation and embarrassment at what she’s implying.

She scoffs. “You do remember how we met, right?”

My mouth puckers and I glare down into the snow. I kick some of it away and mutter, “Can we just pretend that wasn’t me?” I catch her eye guiltily. “I don’t tend to give the best first impressions.”

“To be fair, neither do I,” she sighs. We stare at each other throughout a moment of mutual sheepish silence.

“Please, just take them,” I finally appeal. “If you have to make yourself feel better about it, consider it an apology for that day.”

“An apology?” She widens her eyes theatrically and claps a hand over her mouth.

I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry I made you walk through the snow in your bare feet, okay? I was pissed off and on a power trip and I took it out on you. Not that you weren’t asking for trouble.” She raises her eyebrows, so I elaborate, “I could have flogged or shot you for poaching under the actual laws of this country. Or just for resisting arrest or assaulting a Peacekeeper. But I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?” she asks, dropping her hand and relaxing her face so her expression is as genuine as her tone.

My eyes flick down to her lips momentarily. How I’d love to plant one on her. It would explain everything. But it would also give the impression that I actually am hoping for sexual favors in return, so I just shove the pants into her chest instead. “Here, just take the damn pants, Everdeen. Please.”

Katniss slowly lifts her arms to cradle the gift, holding my gaze the entire time. “Okay,” she agrees quietly as she closes her hands around it.

“Thank you,” I whisper, loosening my own grip.

“For what?” she blinks. Her slack jaw has left her lips slightly parted and her brow creased inquisitively. The evening breeze tickles the wisps that have fallen loose from her messy braid, depositing a few flakes on her crown in the process. I can’t help but stare.

“For accepting my apology,” I say mindlessly, reaching up to brush the powder from her long bangs. “For letting me…” Not sure how to finish that sentence, I drop my gaze, and immediately catch her squinting eyes jumping from my intrusive hand back to my face. I snap out of my trance, my hand slipping down her cheek to her shoulder. “Sorry, you had…” I trail off as I realize how ridiculous I’m about to sound.

“Snow in my hair?” she deduces. I nod sheepishly, and she exaggeratedly lifts her eyes to the sky. “Imagine that,” she quips. But when she catches my eye again, her mouth turns up in a slight smile that I return involuntarily. Her eyes briefly flit down to her collarbone, and it’s only then that I notice how I’m twirling her braid absentmindedly between my thumb and forefinger. And that she's not complaining, only curiously examining my face. Her gaze suddenly intensifies as we lock eyes, and she swallows almost indiscernibly. Great, now I'm making her nervous. And with her infuriating poker face, I can't tell whether it's in a good or a bad way. But it would be so easy to just push up off my toes a little and find out…

The telltale squeak of the heavy door swinging open pierces the air, and instantly we’ve both jumped back several inches. The ruckus coming from inside the Hob reverberates in my eardrums as I watch Katniss catch her breath just as sharply as I have to. Well, I guess that answers that question. Maybe. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be caught fraternizing with a Peacekeeper. She gives credence to that theory by slipping my present behind her back just as the noise returns to muted levels. I step aside and turn around so we can both see who interrupted us. My heartbeat picks back up as I identify the Head Peacekeeper just outside the door.

Cray looks our way and, upon recognizing us, eyes us inquisitively. “Katniss, Johanna,” he slurs as he approaches us, “what a surprise.” He stumbles to within a few feet of us, and I have to make a conscious effort not to step back. Not only does he reek of alcohol, he’s leveling that strange and oddly predatory look at me again. What, did Clove send him naked pictures of me or something? He looks from me to my companion and back again. “So, you two are getting along better now?” he infers.

“We have a business arrangement,” Katniss replies blandly. “It works better if we’re not trying to kill each other.”

Cray laughs obnoxiously. “I suppose it would.” He sways a little and catches himself on his back foot. He focuses on us again and chuckles, “Well, I should get home while I still can.” Good, please go away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mason.”

My brow scrunches at this piece of news. “You will?”

He blinks as though to clear his head. “Yes, I will.” Well, I’m certainly looking forward to that. He turns to Katniss, looks her up and down, and gives her a much-too-friendly smile. My ears instantly flare up, my fingers curling tightly into my palms. Only my will to live keeps me from laying a finger on him. In his current state, all it would take is a finger to knock him on his ass. “You ladies have a good night,” he drawls, giving us one last smirk before staggering away. My muscles relax marginally as I watch his retreat, sighing in relief.

“Gross,” I mutter.

Katniss shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

I can’t help grinning a little. “You mean because you’re so attractive, or because Cray’s a total pervert?”

She snorts. “Whatever you say, Mason. I was talking about Cray. And some of the other Peacekeepers, too.”

I almost flash her a lecherous smirk and offer a generous rebuttal to her self-perception, but I catch myself. She doesn’t need anyone else coming onto her inappropriately right now, let alone another Peacekeeper. Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets and nod curtly. “Well, goodnight, Everdeen,” I mumble, taking a step back.

“Goodnight,” she reciprocates. She pulls the pants from behind her back. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” I assure her. “Anytime.” I tuck my chin and smile a little to myself once I’ve turned to head back inside. I can’t help but bask in the feeling I get around her, like I’m walking on air. But, it’s not without some trepidation. Walking on air, unfortunately, puts me in a position to fall. Again.

***

I hug my jacket tighter around my midsection as I traverse the path leading to Cray’s house the following afternoon. I would be mildly annoyed by being summoned to a meeting post-shift in any case, but it’s particularly irritating when I have to walk there in this weather. The snow picked up a little overnight, and the temperature has taken a bitterly cold turn. I hope Everdeen decided to make use of my gift after all. I try to put last night’s run-in with Cray out of my mind as I round the side of his house and rap my chapped knuckles against the front door. Despite my urge to avoid him, I burst inside the second he gives me permission, shuddering as the warm air contacts my skin.

After kicking the snow off my boots, I poke my head into Cray’s office and inquire, “Purnia said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Agent Mason,” he confirms. “Please, sit down.”

I obey that order and inquire expectantly, “What can I do for you, Commander?” My face starts to fall as I notice his grim expression.

“I’ve called you here because you were mentioned in a complaint filed at the conclusion of the Victory Tour,” he explains. Oh, shit. I thought that little indiscretion of mine had blown over. Maybe a comrade tattled on me after all. “You might not know this, but the victor, mentor, and Capitol escort are given an opportunity to provide feedback on the Tour to help improve it for future years.” Xavier. That blue-haired little bitch. I’d love to pin him down and slowly crush his fucking windpipe with my axe handle.

“Yes, I’ve heard that,” I reply calmly.

“You know I’m not one to strictly enforce protocol,” Cray starts, “but it's different when the name of our district is on the line. This is not disastrous, because the incident occurred off-camera and no Peacekeepers from out-of-district were present. Very few people are aware of it. But stepping out of line on reaping day, for instance?” He points a stern finger my way. “I will not have my outpost become the laughingstock of all of Panem.”

I take a moment to conceive the best possible response to weasel my way out of this situation. “I acted impulsively, Commander,” I confess. “I wanted to say hello to a friend, but I didn’t consider the consequences for the whole outpost, and I regret that.”

“It’s not just your breaking rank that’s the problem, Mason,” he rejoins, hardly placated. “Politely approaching and saying hello in a dignified manner would have been out of order, but not wholly embarrassing. But Miss Caskey’s escort claims you chased her down and called her some kind of demeaning name.” He squints at a report on his desk. “Bean sprout?”

“Beanstalk, sir,” I correct him, “regarding her physique. It's a childhood nickname. We've known each other for years.”

“Yes, I know,” he declares. He clasps his hands in front of him, resting his forearms on the desk as he leans in. “I've done my homework on you, Agent Mason. This incident piqued my interest, and I’ve made some very interesting discoveries.” I’m glad I’m sitting down, because I almost lose my balance as it is. “I'm aware that you were enrolled in the candidacy program, and that you withdrew under less than ideal circumstances.”

I strain to keep a calm façade despite the panicked clamor ringing in my ears. Fight or flight. I almost always choose the same option, but I have to be careful how I do it here. I allow my face and tone to darken only slightly. “Commander Cray, I gave no reason for my withdrawal from the program. Anything you think you know about that is purely speculation.”

He chuckles dismissively. “Perhaps that is true, but logical deductions can easily be made from certain facts. Such as the company you kept.” He peeks into a file folder, withdraws a sheet of paper, and places it on the desk. My stomach immediately seizes up at the sight of her face, and not just because I know where this conversation is heading. Cray taps the candidate biography in front of me. “Clove Kentwell: age sixteen, born October 2nd. Now widely considered to be the top contender for female designated volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games. Was known to be in a long-term relationship with a fellow candidate…” He pulls out another biography and sets it beside the first. “Johanna Mason: age eighteen, born August 25th. Was the undisputed favorite to represent District 2 at the 74th Games until she unexpectedly withdrew from the program on September 12th of this year...” He opens the folder and flips through a couple of pages. “…Before enlisting in the Peacekeeping Corps on October 6th.” He catches my eye and points back and forth between our birth dates. “It doesn't take a genius, Mason.”

“Lucky for you,” I snap. I shoot back in my chair the instant I realize what I just said, avoiding the blow that is sure to come, like it did to Katniss on my first day. So much for being careful.

Surprisingly, Cray only raises his eyebrows and muses, “No wonder you’re so familiar with the ‘laws of this country’ you mentioned the day you arrived. Maybe you should have paid attention to them sooner.” He sits back and eyes me smugly. “But, of course, who am I to judge you for your sexual preferences?” I just about puke in my mouth. Hitting me would have been better.

“With all due respect, _sir_ ,” I growl, “this is completely different from what Miss Everdeen was referring to. Clove and I had been involved for over a year. Morally, backing off for one month seemed unnecessary and, quite frankly, ridiculous.”

“Morally, yet not legally,” he notes, wagging a finger. “I do realize there’s a distinction between the two, which is why I don’t always seem so keen on enforcing the law. I value results over procedures.” Cray corrals the biographies back into the folder. “I don’t care what you do, Mason, so as long you help maintain order in the district.” He smirks knowingly. “In fact, keeping tabs on potentially inflammatory individuals is one way of doing so, so by all means, do as you please.”

I feel my neck turning scarlet under my collar. It takes every scrap of my already sparse self-control not to jump across the desk and snap the old man’s neck. Or run away. “Am I dismissed?” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“Not yet.” He slides the first document across the desk. “This is a report of the incident that occurred in the Justice Building during the Victory Tour. Attached is a copy of our discipline contract, including the details of your sentence. You are suspended without pay for one week, effective immediately.”

I blink and shake my head. “This was decided without giving me a chance to defend myself?” I complain weakly, despite my fear of my voice catching.

“You admitted to what you were accused of, Agent,” he replies impatiently. “If you hadn’t, I would have withheld punishment until I’d had a chance to interview your comrades who were present at the time and determine the validity of the escort’s claims.” He flips open the package to the last page and points to the Disciplinary Action heading. “This is standard for a Dereliction of Duty – Class 1 Misdemeanor. I was kind enough to withhold any action under Conduct Unbecoming, considering your established relationship with Miss Caskey and her favorable response to your behavior.”

Under his penetrating and expectant gaze, I swallow enough of my venom to manage a, “Thank you, sir.”

Cray places a pen beside the contract. “Please read this carefully and sign to declare your understanding and cooperation.” My mind is whirring far too quickly to comprehend much of anything no matter how hard I try to concentrate, so I barely bother to skim my eyes over the document before shakily penning my signature and the date. “Very good, Agent Mason,” he says as he signs on his designated line. “You are dismissed.”

I flee out Cray’s back door on shaky legs and head southwest, straight for the gap in the fence. Hot tears start stinging my eyes before I even hear the screen door swing shut behind me, but I stubbornly withhold any sobs until I can escape the district, causing my breaths to come in choked gasps. When I hit the forest a few minutes later, all I’ve held back comes rumbling out of me in bellows of rage. I roar obscenities and attack the trees furiously with a fallen branch in lieu of my axe.

I have never been more humiliated in my life. Cray found the chink in my emotional armor, my deepest regret and source of self-loathing. He found it, drove the knife deep, and gave it a twist. I fucking hate him. He might even surpass Clove on my most-hated list, which is no small feat. But as much as I curse their names while hacking at these unforgiving trunks, I can’t escape the fact that I’m as angry with myself as anyone else. And completely ashamed. I can blame Clove and argue morality versus legality all I want, but I’m the one who fucked up. And here I am, poised to fuck up yet again with another angry younger girl who could just as easily turn on me. There is something seriously wrong with me. The stick snaps in my hands, and I hurl it away with one final scream. Suddenly drained of energy, I slump back against the nearest tree and slide down it, dissolving into tears.

My butt is completely numb and I’ve just about cried myself into oblivion by the time I hear the subtle crunch and squeak of soft feet in the snow to my right. I raise my fists defensively and snap my head up, only to have my visual field filled by black goretex. I simultaneously sigh in relief and kick myself mentally. I’m out of form. Even Katniss Fucking Everdeen shouldn’t be able to get that close to me without me noticing. I duck my face and wipe it, only to find it dry and sticky. I ran out of tears a while ago, leaving my stomach aching and heaving with dry sobs. Katniss sinks into a crouch beside me, and I begrudgingly make eye contact. “Fucking hell, Katniss,” I grumble. “I could have killed you.”

“Yes, you look downright terrifying right now,” she quips dryly. I push my right hand out and put my weight behind it, shoving her as hard as I can without moving off my ass. She teeters but drops one hand into the snow behind her to catch herself. I can’t help but notice she could use new gloves, too. She waddles a few inches closer, sincere concern clouding her face. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

I snuffle back some phlegm and spew it far to my left. “Good at what?”

She hesitates a second but then prods, “What’s wrong?” 

I sigh and let my head tip back to rest on the trunk. My eyes drift over to her and I scoff, “Shouldn’t you be in school, kid?”

“It’s like three-thirty,” she huffs. I guess I’ve been out here longer than I realized. I barely even noticed the loss of feeling in my nose and ears. Katniss pokes me in the arm and grips my jacket. “Now, tell me.”

I duck my head again to hide my hint of a smile. I can tell her confidence is a sham, but the fact that she’s trying to be tough with me is kind of adorable. “Everdeen, it’s…” I stop myself before I can say anything incriminating, or even intimate at all. I sigh heavily. “It’s not something I can talk about with you.” Insult crosses her features, and I clarify, “Or anyone, really.”

She bites her lip, and I can practically see the gears turning in her pretty little head. She shrugs theatrically and ventures, “Well, I can tell you from experience, this is the safest place to let anything out.” She moves her hand to rest on my shoulder. “Not just tears.”

“There’s no such thing as a safe place.” I flick my eyes over to her hand and back. “Or a safe person.”

She drops her comforting expression and hand. “Fine, forget it.” She starts to stand, but I instinctively grab her arm.

“Katniss…” I protest, locking my elbow so she can’t straighten up.

“What?” she demands impatiently, settling back into her crouch. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Not because I have nothing to say, but because I can’t say any of the things I want or need to. Don’t give up. Wear me down. Hold me. Don’t go. Those pleas are not only unfair to her, they are just asking for trouble. Serious trouble. Everdeen doesn’t wait long before grumbling, “Pardon me for thinking you could use a friend. I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I scoff. Katniss’s face stays fairly impassive, but the hurt in her eyes gives my killer instinct an opportunity to end this. I harden my gaze and say what I need to be true. “I don’t need _you_.”

She glares at me and jerks her arm in my grip. “Then let me go.” I should, but I hesitate. She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Make up your damn mind, Johanna.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I growl. She said that far too emphatically to just be talking about her arm.

Katniss scoffs exasperatedly. “You’re so volatile and confusing. You make me want to clock you half the time, but then sometimes you’re really nice to me and I… I just don’t understand. I don’t get you.”

I twitch my eyebrows cynically and glare into the snow. “There’s nothing to get.”

“Why do I get the distinct impression you’re lying?” she retorts. I don’t respond. Finally, I hear her sigh, and I can’t help but look up. “You know what? I think there’s a lot to you,” she declares. “But if you don’t want to let me see it, fine.” She snatches her arm away and stands up. “I don’t have time for this crap.”

I smile ironically. “No? Too busy shooting things with Stormy the not-boyfriend?”

“Better than shooting people who are just doing what they need to do to survive, just because you can,” she snaps. “Unlike you, I have real responsibilities. People counting on me.” That stings, but I push down the anger simmering in my gut and only narrow my eyes in response. She wants a fight, but I won’t give it to her, not this time. As expected, she deflates as my cold silence drags on. She finally just shakes her head and says, “Goodbye, Hanna.”

When I don’t protest, Katniss turns her back and walks away. Every step she takes smarts in my chest, but I let her go. I am nothing like Cray, and I’m going to prove that to him. And, more importantly, to myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure whether I will post another chapter of this next or jump back to Lifeblood. If you have an opinion, feel free to sound off on tumblr, but I can't guarantee I'll listen. "I'm not in control of the muse." I like to do quick updates after downer chapters, so I might stick with this fic. Nobody likes Joniss staying at odds. :/
> 
> Thanks, as usual, to District 7 Profanity for her beta reading, even if she has a hard time being objective because of all of her overwhelming feelings. No, but seriously, thanks for being a good moderating force and my guinea pig for things between the lines.


	5. My Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long-ass and eventful chapter, but stick with it through the end and you'll understand where it's going.

Purnia’s advice falls by the wayside as soon as I return to my room after that conversation with Katniss. I don’t miss sobriety enough to have any desire to go through this in an unaltered state, so I hit my Victory Tour leftovers hard. It’s all too much. The feelings of betrayal and despair from when I was forced to withdraw, dredged up anew. My humiliation at the hands of Cray. Missing Clove, and berating myself for missing her. Losing Katniss. No, not losing her, pushing her away. That’s even worse. I’ll probably be alone forever, but whatever, I kind of deserve it.

I don’t bother trying to abate my loneliness; rather, I sequester myself in my quarters for much of the following week. I leave once to shower and only the odd time to force some food into my irritated stomach. A few of my shift-mates try to get me to come out, or to talk, but I ignore them. I don’t have a conversation of any length or significance until Darius swipes a master key late Wednesday morning, after several bouts of knocking. He finds me on the floor, shoulders propped against the side of my bed, a bottle between my sprawled legs. I try to glare, but I’m too emotionally exhausted to be angry. “Making sure you weren’t dead,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Maybe I wasn’t answering because I was busy jerking off,” I deadpan.

“Is that supposed to deter me?” His half-hearted smirk lasts only seconds, and then he closes the door behind him. “Why are you on the floor?” he asks, sneaking closer.

“I like it down here,” I shrug.

Darius purses his lips and blinks around the room at my small collection of empty bottles. With my monetary resources drained thanks to my purchase for Katniss, I’ve had to make what I already had on hand last. As a result, I haven’t gotten the chance to get any drunker than a state of numb dissociation. Purnia would be pleased. “You know,” Darius says, “I totally get the need to self-medicate, but this is some Haymitch-level shit you’re pulling these days.”

I scoff and blow a stray piece of hair from my face. “Did Purnia send you?”

“No.” He edges by me and settles on the floor to my right. “I’m worried about you, Jo.”

“Oh, here we go,” I groan with a massive eye roll.

Darius grabs my chin and turns my face his way. “I’m serious,” he insists. “Listen to me. You have alcoholism in your family. If you’re not careful, you _will_ end up like Haymitch. Have you ever met him?” I shake my head, or at least attempt to. “He is a miserable sack of flesh,” Darius enunciates. “He’s always drunk. He’s violent, he’s sad, and he has no family or friends.”

“Oh, so, a lot like me,” I snicker wryly.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a weak smile. “If you’re gonna get hooked on something, get hooked on morphling. That would at least mellow you out.” He releases my jaw and gives my cheek a couple of pats. I let out a sad chuckle and look down into the bottle between my legs. I feel his eyes on me for a few more seconds, and then he asks very softly, “What’s going on with you?”

I sigh and wipe my red-brimmed, exhausted eyes. “Something came up,” I say.

“You mean your suspension?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Like, something from my past.” I look up and into his caring eyes. “Something I was hoping I would lose in all of this,” I explain, sweeping my hand around the room. “But no, it’s come around to haunt me again.”

Darius considers this momentarily and then asks, “Does this have to do with why you left the program? That reason you refuse to talk about?” I nod, feeling a few tears burn paths down my cheeks. I blink away and face forward again, embarrassed. “And now that you’re suspended, you have nothing to distract you from it,” he reasons. I nod again, numbly. My head feels so heavy. I am beyond tired of crying.

I twitch with surprise when I feel his arm slip around my shoulders. I expected the motor mouth to keep talking. That’s usually all he does. But it’s admittedly a welcome surprise, and his fingers curling around my deltoid is all it takes for me to let my head fall against his shoulder. I close my eyes and soak up the particular comfort that comes from the closeness of another person, one I haven’t had nearly enough of lately. One I’ve purposely withheld from myself, much of the time. This is a moment of weakness, but I’m already so weak and compromised, I hardly care.

“Do you want me to talk about something?” he asks a minute later. “Something else?”

I shake my head and then turn it to wipe my eyes on his shirtsleeve that smells of fresh laundry. “No,” I mumble. “I want to talk.”

I feel him tip his head down to get a better look at me. “Really?”

“Mm,” I nod. And I do. I don’t know why, but I do. Maybe because my loneliness has finally become unbearable. Or because I’m being crushed under the weight of my secrets. Except, they’re not really secrets anymore. I need someone who knows them on my side, need to release them to someone I trust. And if there’s anyone I trust in this district, it’s Darius. He already knows the part about me being in the program, anyway.

I shift on my numbed ass to sit up straighter and turn in toward Darius a little. He follows suit, drawing his arm back in the process. I clear my throat and sigh, catching his eye meaningfully. “This is difficult for me to talk about.”

“I figured,” he nods.

I exhale through my nose and drum my fingers on my knees. “I don’t even know where to start,” I admit.

“How long were you in the program?” I smile a little to myself. He’s starting me off easy.

“A little under eight years. Joined the fall after the 65th.”

Darius lets out a low whistle. “Trained to kill from a young age, huh? I’ll remember never to piss you off.”

“You already have.” I smirk up at him. “If I wanted to kill you, I would.”

“But you don’t want to,” he says.

I avert my eyes to the wall and shake my head. “No.”

“Were you good?”

I smile ironically and take a swig. “The best.”

“So you didn’t leave because you thought they wouldn’t pick you?” I throw him some side-eye and he shrugs innocently. “That’s just what I assumed. That your ego was bruised and you ran away.”

“Do I really seem like the type to give up? To tuck my tail between my legs and run?” He looks pointedly at the bottle. “Shut up. Asshole.”

“Just sayin’.”

I glare at him and pointedly down another mouthful. Then I raise an eyebrow and extend the bottle to him. He chuckles but slips it out of my grip and tips it back.

“There was this girl a couple years behind me in the program,” I blurt. “She blackmailed me into withdrawing so she could take my place this year.”

Darius’s eyes flick over, suddenly huge. “What?” he chokes. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and thunks the bottle on the floor. “Who would do something like that?”

“Clove Kentwell,” I enunciate through a clenched jaw. The words burn my mouth worse than the alcohol.

“What did she dig up on you?” When I eye him up suspiciously, he adds, “If you don’t mind my asking. I promise I won’t spill your secrets.”

“Yeah, right. You never shut up.” I snatch the bottle from his hand and take a swig. “She caught me breaking the law, let’s just put it that way.” I laugh sourly. “Actually, she knew I was going to, and she made sure there was proof. She went out of her way to take me down.”

“That’s fucked up,” he declares bluntly. His forehead suddenly crinkles. “Why would she even bother? You said she’s sixteen this summer, right?”

I snort. “She’s already sixteen, actually. Has been since October.” I turn my head and add drolly, “Not that I sent her a card or anything.”

Darius sucks his top lip between his teeth, squinting in thought. “I don’t get it. Why would she do that if she had two more years of eligibility? Why go in younger than necessary?”

“Paranoia,” I answer, not missing a beat. When his expression fails to change, I elaborate, “I figure she probably saw it as her surest chance of being selected. Both Quells so far have affected the reaping rules, so she might have been rendered ineligible next year.”

“Even so, she could have volunteered for the 76th,” he counters. “If she thinks she’s taking your place this year, she must be the frontrunner in her age category.”

“But these things are never set in stone,” I explain. “Scar and I assumed we’d be 73 and 74, and look how that turned out. Candidates crop up out of nowhere, existing ones improve, injuries happen. So she took an opportunity when she saw one. Even if someone else gets selected this time around, that’s one less person she’ll have to compete with in later years.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this,” Darius observes.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” I shrug. “I’ve been trying not to think as much as possible, but it’s hard not to. Especially now that I have nothing better to do.”

“We could go for a workout,” he suggests. I pointedly widen my eyes, so he clarifies, “I mean, once you’ve sobered up. Not right this second.”

“Said with the presumption that I intend to sober up,” I retort.

“You’re going to,” he says decidedly. “You have to if you want to avoid another DoD and another week or two of sitting here, stewing in your own regrets.”

“Like trusting that little bitch,” I scoff. I don’t have much space left for anger in the penance I’ve been putting myself through, but it feels good whenever I find an opportunity to blame Clove again. A moment of relief. “She was like, ‘Sorry, Jo, I don’t want to do this.’ Fuck off. Of course she did.” I turn back to Darius, only to see his mouth hanging open. “What?” I demand.

“It was your _ex_?” he gasps. I stare blankly. Shit. I’ve said too much, yet again. I can see the gears turning behind his eyes, doing the math. Literally. Then his eyebrows knit and he says, “Holy fucking shit. She accused you of stat rape, didn’t she?”

I sigh and blink down to the floor. “‘Accused’ isn’t really the word for it, now is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Accused’ implies I was innocent. I wasn’t.” Feeling a reemergence of my cry face coming on, I set my jaw and glare yet harder at the floor. My carefully controlled voice comes out quiet and low. “I was very, very guilty.”

“Johanna. You have to stop torturing yourself over this.” He slides a hand under my jawbone and tips it up again. “It’s why you’re self-destructing, right? Talking down about yourself all week, sitting on the floor, pushing everyone away, barely eating?” He brushes a thumb over my cheek and reassures me, “You are not a bad person, okay?”

“I am, kind of. Though that’s not the only reason.” I drop my face into my palms and exhale shakily. “Really, I’m just an idiot.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he agrees bluntly.

I wearily meet his eyes and half-heartedly snark, “Thanks.”

“What do you expect me to say?” he scoffs. “Who in their right mind gets involved with a rival?”

“Well, you know what they say.” I flourish dramatically and recite, “‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’”

“No, I think that was her philosophy,” he says. “You’re the one who got played.”

I purse my lips and stare at the wall, tapping one of my feet on the floor as I consider how to explain this. I ultimately say, “This is what the Games are all about, as a Career. Alliances and levels of trust. How well can you trust someone, and for how long? A true ally will scourge the field with you, but then have the balls to fight you face-to-face, not lodge a knife in your spine the second it’s down to the two of you. I guess that’s what I thought Clove was.” I pause to snort in self-contempt. “But I always knew deep down that she wasn’t. The danger was part of the attraction.” The tears start welling in my eyes again, but I turn to my friend instead of concealing them. My voice threatens to crack as I lament, “I miss her so much, Darius. If she were here, I’d wanna lodge an axe in her face and then kiss it all better. I fucking hate her.”

Darius chuckles a little to himself. My watery eyes go hard and he raises his hands innocently. “Sorry, that’s just some hilarious imagery.” I find it in myself to smile a little, and Darius smirks, “If you can do that, you must have magical fuckin’ lips.”

This catches me a little off-guard, but I try not to let it show. No matter how he intended it, I have a reputation of witty, sexy comebacks to keep up. I tilt my face up, flutter my eyelashes at him, and croon, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Now it’s his turn to be caught off guard, and he doesn’t hide it quite so well. When I hear his breath catch and see his eyes flit down to my lips, I realize it. He does want to know. I mean, I guess that’s not really a surprise, but he’s never said as much, not seriously. The real surprise is the draw I feel to close the gap. But I don’t overthink it. I close my eyes and let the fuzzy warmth in my chest guide my face.

I feel Darius’s hand softly cup my cheek, and I sigh into the space between us, continuing my upward trajectory. His breath is brushing my lips by the time he presses back a little with his hand, slowing me to a stop. I open my eyes curiously, only to see him biting his lip. “Shit,” he mutters.

I look from his face to his obstructing hand, blinking bewilderedly. “I thought–”

“You thought right, it’s just…” He sighs heavily. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.” I squint, trying to bring him into sharper focus. “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“I’m not?” I only blink in reply, so he explains, “I don’t want us to do something you’ll regret and make our relationship all weird, okay? Yeah, I’d like to kiss you, but I’m fine with things the way they are, and I don’t want to fuck them up. You’re clearly still hung up on this girl, anyway.”

“So you’re assuming I can’t make my own decisions because I’m drunk?” I chirp indignantly.

Darius purses his lips and rejoins with a hint of condescension, “Well, it’s probably not the best time to be making decisions.”

“Maybe I can handle my alcohol, Mr. Morality Police. How about you stop treating me like I’m a fucking child?”

“Maybe I would, if you’d stop acting like one,” he snaps. “You know, I’m happy to be your distraction, Johanna, but if you’re gonna use me to make yourself feel better about some stupid girl who doesn’t appreciate you, I’d rather you at least be sober.”

My face falls as fast as my jaw. It takes a second for me to recover my anger enough to narrow my eyes and articulate, “Wow, tell me how you really feel. You think you get to decide how I should feel about you?”

“No,” he answers shortly. “But I do get to decide if it’s worth the bullshit to get involved with you.”

That takes the last of my will to fight. I drop my eyes and mumble, “And here I thought you liked me.”

Darius puts a hand on my knee and softens his voice considerably. “Hey,” he says, giving it a squeeze. “I do like you. In more ways than one.” I catch his eye again, less begrudgingly than I make it look. “Everyone has their bullshit. So yours involves unresolved feelings for traitorous exes, so what?” He grins a little, and I roll my eyes. “It’s not that I’m judging you,” he clarifies. “I don’t wanna get caught up in some huge web of drama. The offer’s still open, and I’m happy to keep it casual and non-dramatic. As long as you’re sure it’s what you want.”

I cock a sassy eyebrow. “But only once I’m sober?”

Darius flexes his arms and morphs his face in another one of his goofy seductive poses. “Great incentive to sober up, huh?”

I snicker and punch him in the shoulder. “I’m not even that drunk,” I argue. “I wouldn’t be able to have an intelligent conversation with you if I was.”

“Maybe not,” he reasons, “but you’re uninhibited.”

“Is that abnormal?” I smirk.

“Not really, no.” Darius hesitates a second, but then awkwardly pushes himself to his feet. “I should go,” he mumbles on the way up, seemingly thinking aloud. He gives me a tight-lipped smile and nods toward his quarters. “If you need me, I’m next door.”

“Okay,” I say with as little enthusiasm as I feel. I don’t want him to go, but it’s not fair of me to ask him to stay. This is becoming a common theme for me, these days.

***

“Leaving one’s assigned area without permission: DoD Class 3 Misdemeanor.” I point at the group of on-duty Peacekeepers standing nearby, drinking and laughing, then glance over to my companions for approval. Purnia and I are seated on some crates a few feet from Darius, who’s leaning against the outer sidewall of Greasy Sae’s stall, where the three of us just bought some soup. If you can call it that. It’s surely not her fault, because the weather’s been bad this week and poached meat has been scarce, but the beef broth is weak and there’s not much filler. I'm not sure if it's even beef. I don't ask, because I don't want to know.

“Rawley probably said they could come around,” Darius argues. “He was just here not even half an hour ago.”

I catch Purnia’s eye. “You wouldn’t just let us off mid-shift.”

“If I ran afternoons, I might, once in a while,” she shrugs. “Not to drink and cavort, but to trade. I know it’s better later in the day.”

“Besides, having them here makes more sense than making everyone freeze their nuts off in the hummers,” says Darius. “All the locals are either shuttered up in their houses, or they’re here.” He sweeps his hand around the crowded Hob.

I scoff and take a moment to bend one of my knees and tuck my heel between my thighs. I nod toward the group and point out, “Still, imbibing alcohol or drugs while on duty: DoD Class 1 Offense.” 

“Mason,” groans Darius.

One of the on-duty guys, who apparently can’t withstand a playful shove, stumbles a couple of steps and almost crashes into Purnia. He holds up a hand in apology and wobbles back to his friends, lobbing obscenities. I nod his way and recite, “Being found to be under the influence and impaired while on duty: DoD Class 2 Offense.”

Purnia reaches over and taps her spoon against my bowl. “Purchasing illegally produced or obtained goods: Unlawful Activities Class 4 Offense.”

I glare at her, but Darius chimes in again before I can argue. “You benefit from this laxity too, Johanna. Don’t blame everyone else just because you got busted acting out of order during a major event.”

“He’s right,” agrees Purnia. “Let it go.” I scowl down at my bowl. I’ve been off my suspension for two weeks as of today, but I’m still rather bitter about the whole ordeal. One of Purnia’s hands comes into the picture, gripping my wrist, and I begrudgingly catch her eye again. “Look, I understand that you didn’t really know better because of what the troops get away with on a regular day around here,” she sympathizes, “but now you do know better. And I’m sure you’ll do just fine, next televised event.”

“Reaping day,” I mutter.

She nods. “There’s never anything else to broadcast out of here.”

I shut up after that and let Darius embarrass himself with his mouth instead, which is more the usual. He’s had a little to drink, but that’s not necessary to procure such behavior from the village idiot. With all the traffic milling around, I barely notice two snow-dusted figures making their way for Greasy Sae’s, and I only recognize them when Katniss removes her knit cap and shakes the powder from it. I guess the surprise must show on my face, because Darius stops mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder.

“What? Never seen an attractive girl before?” he smirks, turning back to us.

I blush and mutter, “They’re not usually here this early.” Unless it’s a Sunday, sometimes. Every other day, they have to wait until school’s over to hit the woods. It can’t be any later than four-thirty on Saturday.

“It’s the storm,” he reasons. “What are they gonna catch in whiteout conditions?”

“A cold, maybe,” deadpans Purnia.

Darius snorts. “Yeah, just about.” He peeks over his shoulder again, watching as the two hunters hand over some coins and gratefully receive a couple of bowls of steaming broth. Katniss dips her head to take a big whiff and shudders as the heat hits her face. Gale’s reacting much the same way, opening his coat to clutch his bowl to his chest. Darius was probably right about our co-workers freezing their nuts off. Maybe even the girls.

“What’re you staring at?” Gale huffs, looking my way.

I check in on Katniss, who’s just hoisting herself up to sit cross-legged on Sae’s counter, then return my eyes to Gale. “Don’t suppose you want me to keep you warm, huh?” I wink. I sneak another glance at his partner. Her mouth quirks irritably, but she doesn’t say anything. Gale just rolls his eyes and lifts the entire bowl to his lips to take a glug from the edge. I kind of love that my faux advance annoyed her more than him, even though I’m not totally sure who she’s jealous of. I can still let her possible feelings for me stroke my ego, right? No harm in that.

Darius rolls off the outer side of the stall’s wall so he’s now leaning against the end of it, facing Katniss and Greasy Sae and almost entirely blocking my view of them. I can catch a sliver of the poacher past his left shoulder. “So, Miss Everdeen,” he drawls, “what do you have for sale today?” He nods at her bag she discarded on the floor. “Anything… tasty?” I can hear his eyebrow waggle in his voice. I groan inwardly and pretend to be focused on my soup.

“Not much,” the girl shrugs. “A couple rabbits, one squirrel.”

“Not much?” he repeats doubtfully. “Don’t sell yourself short, now. I do love me a good rabbit.”

“Oh, do you?” she challenges him with a touch of a smirk. “Then I’m sure you’ll pay top dollar. What are you willing to give me for one?”

“A kiss,” comes his brazen reply. I almost choke on my spoonful of soup, and clap a hand over my mouth in case I start coughing. I flick my eyes over to Gale to see him wearing a stony expression. He might pass for unaffected, if I didn’t catch the subtle tightness in his jaw. I guess he’s not as aggressively territorial when Katniss is around, either that or I really caught him off guard that time a few weeks ago. Either way, he’s making an effort to conceal it. I know the feeling.

Katniss, meanwhile, just rubs her chin in thought, smiling mischievously. “Hmm. That hardly seems like a fair trade.”

“Nonsense, young lady,” he gasps. “One of my kisses is easily worth a rabbit, maybe even two.” He takes the end of her braid between his fingers and tickles her cheek with it. “Everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile.”

My eyes go huge, but Katniss only laughs and playfully smacks his hand away, apparently unbothered. I look over at Purnia, who looks only halfway as disturbed as I am. “Dude,” I mouth at her. 

She rolls her eyes with a headshake, leaning toward me. I close the remaining distance, and she whispers, “Any other Peacekeeper, they wouldn’t be laughing.” I peek around her. She’s referring to Greasy Sae, who’s joined in the laughter and ribbing. I can’t help wondering if I’m included in that category of extraneous Peacekeepers.

“What makes Darius so special?” I grumble.

“Look at him,” scoffs Purnia. “He’s harmless. You can hardly picture him as a man, let alone virile.” I snicker a little. That’s mostly true. With his fresh face, save for the sparse beginnings of a beard on the underside of his jaw, Darius could pass for my age or younger. His self-effacing and satirically pompous sense of humor adds to the illusion. I actually don’t doubt his virility, but that’s not something I’m about to admit to anyone. Nor the fact that it’s come to my mind more than a few times since our almost-kiss a couple weeks ago. Still, I figure it’s better than having those thoughts about Katniss. “And he’s known Katniss for years,” adds Purnia. “She knows as well as any of us that he’s all bluster.”

Another roar of laughter from Greasy Sae draws my attention back to her counter, where Darius is pointing at someone across the room. “No?” he says. “There’s more.” He points to someone else. “See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her. If you need a reference.”

“You’re full of it,” Katniss chuckles.

“What?” he gapes. “Don’t trust a stranger? Fine, ask Johanna.” Darius steps back with a flourish in my direction. Greasy Sae whistles, while Katniss blinks between Darius and I with narrowed eyes and a slightly puckered mouth.

“Ask me what?” I inquire suspiciously, bouncing my eyes between all three expectant faces.

“Oh, Miss Everdeen here needs some convincing about the quality of my kisses. I was hoping you could give her a favorable review.” Little shit. My first instinct is to vehemently refute his claim, and rightfully so. But Katniss’s expression is priceless. What little of an expression she has, that is. She’s got her impassive mask back on now, but I catch a minute twitch in her jaw, and she can’t disguise the subtle pulsing vein over her right eyebrow. Her feelings on the matter are plain as day, at least to me. Maybe not to everyone else. Possibly not even to her. Despite my reservations that Cray only reinforced that day he suspended me, I can’t help but wish I’d kissed her when I had the chance. I’m not going to, but I can at least have a little fun.

I stand and place my bowl on my seat, then slink the few steps over to Darius, lighting up my eyes seductively. I circle my right arm around his waist and lean into his side, eyeing up the two women with a provocative smirk. “Oh, baby,” I coo, “I’m not sure I want to tell them.” I place my free hand on his sternum and gaze longingly into his eyes. “Don’t want either of these ladies moving in on my territory.”

Darius’s eyes flicker and land on my lips, much of the humor lost in his expression. When he catches my eye again, I see an intensity I’m not used to. From him, anyway. If we were in private, he’d surely have me in a lip-lock by now. That hungry look stirs my innards and settles a familiar heat deep in my stomach. It’s not unwelcome, to be honest. 

“He’s that good, is he?” Greasy Sae’s voice cuts into my consciousness. Right, I’m supposed to be making Katniss jealous.

I slyly turn back their way to evaluate my success, feeling Darius sneak an arm over my shoulders. Greasy Sae merely appears amused, but Katniss has gone white, by her standards. I almost feel bad, but I keep up the act. I graze my hand over to his pec, lick my lips and proclaim, “Outstanding.”

Katniss scoffs, the color rapidly returning to her cheeks. “I still say you’re both full of shit.”

“Oo, feisty,” I remark, slipping out from under Darius’s arm so I can move closer. “What is it, Everdeen?” I tip my head and smirk into her face from only feet away. She sizes me up warily but silently, so I lean forward into her space and plant my palms just under her knees, flanking her crossed feet. “Am I the one moving in on _your_ territory?”

Katniss unhooks her legs and plants the sole of one of her boots on my chest. I lift my hands placatingly but keep my smug expression. She leans in a little and snarls, “Hardly,” then abruptly straightens her leg, propelling me back a few steps. Not especially hard, but enough to raise a few eyebrows, I notice as I look around.

“We’re good,” I assure a couple of our guys in uniform who are fingering their gun hilts and looking on.

Katniss is dropping to her feet when I turn back around. She palms her bowl with one of her large hands and scoops her game bag up off the floor. “Come on, Gale,” she says before stalking away, leveling one final glare at me. The boy follows her silently, wearing much the same expression. My guts burble a little as I watch him place a hand on her shoulder while they retreat, and her subsequent failure to shrug it off. Of course. Just because she appears to have a little crush on me doesn’t mean that I hypothetically have an advantage over Gale. Or that she can’t still hate me.

***

Hustling to preserve our body heat, it takes the three of us only ten minutes on foot to get home from the dilapidated industrial area near the mines. We waited out the worst of the blizzard in the Hob, but the temperature dropped even further by the time we got the chance to leave, several hours and bowls of soup later. Purnia peels off to take a hot shower the second we get in the door – in her own private bathroom, because of course that’s one of the perks of being an officer – while Darius and I opt to hit up the tiny coffee bar in the Commune to warm up. He goes straight for the instant brewing machine and starts pressing buttons.

“Hot chocolate,” I order, slumping into a chair at one of the small tables in the immediate area.

Darius looks up amusedly. “Who was your slave last week?”

I lazily point his way and retort, “You owe me for earlier. Pretending to be your lover and all.”

“Oh.” He blushes only a little, but it’s noticeable against his pasty complexion. He furtively glances about. “I wasn’t expecting you to play along, honestly. Homo and all,” he draws out with a smirk. I raise an eyebrow and my middle finger. He chuckles and dumps in some sugar cubes in his mug, then programs my drink into the machine, saying, “I was just givin’ you a rough time.”

“Never said I don’t like it rough,” I drawl. He fumbles the spoon he’s just picked up, and I enjoy a laugh at his expense. “But I figured you need to protect your reputation with the ladies.”

He looks up from stirring his drink and says, “Well, then I appreciate the help.”

I wait until my hands are wrapped around the scalding mug and Darius is sitting only feet away before I quietly probe, “Why those ladies?”

“Huh?” he replies, louder than necessary.

I lean in and pointedly lower my volume even further. “Katniss and Greasy Sae. Aren’t they both a little, you know… out of your age range?” Darius snorts and sips his coffee. “I’m serious,” I insist. “Everdeen, she’s not even legal.”

Darius smirks at me from behind the rim of his mug. “I don’t fuck everyone I flirt with. Do you?” He might be sharper than I sometimes give him credit for. It’s the perfect comeback, really. I’ve playfully flirted with him enough in the month and a half since my arrival for him to know the answer.

“No,” I admit with a smile. His grin spreads, so I attempt to throw him by tacking on, “Haven’t fucked Gale.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Darius snickers. “Kid’s a virgin, or so he claims. Says he's waiting for ‘someone special.’” He pops his eyes meaningfully, and I give him my best barf face in return.

“Like that’s gonna happen anytime soon,” I scoff. “She’s a complete tightass.”

Darius shrugs noncommittally. “You never know. Sometimes when people figure out what they want, things escalate quickly.” He holds my gaze for a long moment while he slurps down some of his hot brew, then stands and wipes his mouth. “Taking this to my room,” he narrates, indicating his cup. “See you after shift?”

“Yeah, I’ll be around,” I assure him unenthusiastically. I’ve almost come to resent my days off, or at least Sundays, my days off without Darius. They remind me too much of being suspended. The redhead gives me a small wave and disappears in the direction of M wing.

I sit around for a while after he goes, observing my coworkers but not really paying attention. The brewing machine must have been overused today without any maintenance, because my hot chocolate is about as subpar as the soup. I dump the watery mixture before I’ve even finished half of it, then start ambling toward my room. Nothing about today has been satisfying, certainly not the food. The only thing close was the look on Katniss’s face when I was cozied up to Darius. Then again, not much of anything has been satisfying lately.

I pass Darius’s cracked door and dig out my keycard. I lift it to the reader and start to swipe, but pause halfway through the motion. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to go in and waste away in isolation, pining for things I can’t have. I don’t want to be anywhere, really. But some places are better than others. Some things are better than nothing. I ease the card back into my pocket and take a few tentative steps to my left, biting my lip. It takes a couple moments of standing around and letting my heart rate needlessly soar before I get the ovaries to poke my head around my neighbor’s door. He’s sitting at his desk, reading a book, his probably long-emptied coffee cup discarded on top of the built-in bookshelf to his left. I swallow to steady my voice before nudging the door out of my way and saying, “Darius?”

He blinks up to catch my eye, and his jaw almost immediately goes slack. “Yeah?” he breathes, his voice cutting off a fraction of a second too early. I didn’t mean for it to be obvious what I’m here for, but I guess it shows on my face. I confirm his apparent suspicions by closing the door behind me. As I approach, he pushes his swivel chair out from the desk and spins it a little so he’s facing me. He starts to stand up, but I lay a hand on his shoulder and push lightly in a silent order to sit back down. I bite my lip again as I stare down into his coffee-colored eyes, pupils already dilating and making them impossibly darker. The sight of that and his parted, expectant lips only makes me want this more. How I’ve missed that look.

I ease one knee and then the other between the chair’s arms and his thighs to rest on the edges of the seat, bracing my second hand on the back on the chair. I feel his hands grazing my waist as I sink down to sit on his knees, and the subtle buzz in my extremities picks up. It’s been, what? Four months since I was last touched like this? Much longer since I’ve been with someone significantly larger than me. Despite my dominant proclivities in the sack, there’s a certain thrill that comes with sex with someone who, even considering my lethal skill set, could probably overpower me in close quarters. It’s a complex blend of fear piquing my libido and the necessary trust making the whole thing feel somehow more intimate.

I trace Darius’s jaw with one of my hands and catch his eye once more, silently seeking permission. He tilts his head up and starts leaning in, and I meet his lips more than halfway. My momentum forces his shoulders back against the chair, and he responds in kind, pulling me closer and into a deep kiss. Perhaps surprisingly in light of his goofy personality, he has an aggressiveness that I like. But it isn’t too much, too soon, either. His lips and tongue are decisive, but not overly forceful. I sit up straighter to break away a short time later, and I let my impressed arousal show on my face. “Not bad,” I reckon aloud. “Maybe not rabbit-worthy, but pretty damn good for a guy.”

“You’re all right yourself,” he smirks. I re-initiate the kissing, slower this time, now letting my hands slide down below his collarbones. I falter for a split second, having to embarrassingly admit to myself that I’m just not used to flat chests anymore. Forging on, I bring my right hand lower and slip it under the hem of his shirt, splaying my fingers on his taut stomach. I’m just considering lifting the garment over his head when his mouth stills and he tilts his head back a little to see my whole face. “Are you sure?” he asks, curling his fingers behind my ear and jawbone.

I pull back a smidge. “Do I seem unsure to you?” I ask, a bit more defensively than I meant to. If I seem unsure, it’s only because this isn’t quite what I want, or who. But it will do. He will do. I justify this train of thought by reminding myself that he offered to be my distraction. He knows what he’s getting into.

“Maybe a little,” he admits.

I roll my eyes and maneuver my legs out of where they’re wedged. When my feet contact the floor, I stand and pull a confused Darius up with me. I take a couple of sidesteps to my right until we’re beside his bed, then forcibly shove him down onto it. His eyes widen, I think from arousal as much as surprise. So, he likes a dominant woman. Or an aggressive one, at least. Even being one myself, I can relate. I like a good fight. I throw a leg over him and sit down on his hips, then plant both my hands on his ribcage and lean forward. “Now?” I ask, raising a challenging eyebrow. Darius smirks a little and tries to sit up to kiss me, but I put more of my weight on my hands to pin him down. “What about you?” I retort. “You sure it’s ‘worth the bullshit’?”

The redhead flashes his signature grin and whispers, “Shut up.” 

He puts more effort into sitting up this time, and I don’t resist. I shuffle back a little so I can sit comfortably in his lap, brushing over a noticeable bump in the process. I grin wickedly, first into his eyes and then down at his rather obvious boner. “Already?” I smirk, teasing a finger around it. “Feeling impatient?” I move my hand to unzip his pants, but he catches my wrist before I can.

“I’ve got lots of patience,” he counters sassily. “You should know that.” He reaches behind his neck and whips his shirt off, then immediately moves his hands to my hips and grasps my waistband. I squint down at his hands, not entirely following his intentions until he pops the button loose, yanks down the zipper, and leans back halfway onto the mattress.

“Shit,” I say under my breath as he lifts my butt by the pants and starts to shimmy them and my underwear off of me. I swiftly maneuver to my knees and then back to my ass to assist in his efforts. I frantically kick my feet free and then shuck my socks while Darius deposits my bottoms on the floor. I get back to my knees and shuffle up his torso, his hands quickly finding the small of my back and helping to guide me the rest of the way. His head hits the pillow around the time I grab the headboard and pull myself the remaining distance, and I look down in time to see him gazing hungrily at my wet folds as I move my shaky knees into position on either side of his shoulders. He blinks back up and, catching me staring, shoots me a salacious wink. I narrow my eyes and goad him, “What’s the holdup, oh virile redheaded man? You gonna put your money where your mouth is, or what?”

His lips split into a wide grin. “You mean put my mouth where my mouth is?”

I barely have time to sarcastically drawl, “Ha ha” before he cranes his neck and does just that. I gasp and shudder at the sensation suddenly shooting out from my clit and through my entire body. The little fucker ends it far too quickly for my liking and starts exploring the rest of my intimate area, swirling his tongue through my folds and around my entrance, and I find myself grunting impatiently almost immediately. I guess I should take it as a good sign because it means he likes it down there and is probably going to be attentive to detail, but it’s been forever since I’ve gotten off by someone else’s hand. Or mouth.

The boy’s eyes flash up to meet mine briefly and, though they are full of mischief, he takes pity on me and returns to the more direct route. In mere moments, I’m involuntarily rolling my hips down against his face and weaving my fingers into his already messy locks to get a sure grip. I’m very quickly realizing that one thing is for certain: Darius may exaggerate his conquests, but not his capabilities. He knows what he’s doing.

***

“Fuck, Johanna,” breathes Darius, speeding up his hips. He’s close. I slap his ass hard and then use that hand to aid his movement. “I’m gonna…” I dig my nails into the tender flesh to give him that extra push, making him grunt painfully. A few thrusts later, he exhales sharply and shudders on top of me. Gasping for air, he stills his hips and drops his forehead into the crook of my neck. He groans into my flesh a few times before slowly pulling out and rolling over to toss his second condom of the night in the trash. He turns back my way and lays his hand just below my bellybutton, still slightly breathless as he asks, “You need to finish?”

“Nah,” I decline, “I’m nowhere near.” An expression something like insult crosses his face, and I laugh and cup his cheek. “It’s not like I wasn’t enjoying it,” I assure him. “Besides, you gave me plenty already.”

His eyes look truly puppy-like when he offers, “I can give you more.”

“I’m sure you can,” I chuckle, ruffling his hair. “But I’m done.”

Darius relents silently, lifting his hand from my abdomen. I shift gingerly so I can slide up the bed and sit up, and I must grimace a little, because his brow knits and he asks, “Did I hurt you?”

My mouth twitches. “No, not really. It’s just been a while.”

“Since your last guy,” he posits.

“Mm hm.” My eyes go to the ceiling as I do some mental calculations. “Gotta be close to two years by now.” I flit them back over to Darius, whose expression is unreadable. “I started young,” I admit.

“No judgment here,” he says, eyes and voice soft. 

“I know.” A huge smile takes over my face, completely of its own volition, and I surge forward to kiss him deeply. The lack of judgment, it’s really something he has on Katniss. Plus being of age and a fellow Peacekeeper, of course. This, while not ideal, is much less complicated. And I could definitely get used to it. I’m still probing his soft and now especially tasty tongue with mine when I flick my eyes up to check the time. I break away suddenly to exclaim, “Holy shit, it’s after nine already?”

He smirks saucily. “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

“That was like a solid 45 minutes, dude,” I inform him.

“I told you, redheaded men.” He gives me the eyes and brushes a hand over my breast.

“Yeah,” I laugh, slapping it away, “that is really good for a guy.”

He blinks, a curious expression coming over his face. “You keep saying that.”

“Are you surprised?” I scoff. “You’re the one who keeps calling me a homo.” I run my hand over his decently meaty upper arm, tilting my head. “Though I think I just proved you wrong, didn’t I?”

Darius lets out a small laugh. “You didn’t have to prove anything to me, Jo. I believed you, you’re just fun to fuck with.” He shakes his head sharply, suddenly grinning. “I mean, fun to mess with. Though you’re also fun to fuck with.”

“You’re not the first to say so,” I bluntly reply. “Believe it or not, I get rave reviews too.”

“Oh, I believe it,” he declares. I smirk and move so he’s forced onto his back and I’m on my shins and straddling his body, then bend down for one more bout of kisses. I keep them slow so it’s not such a surprise when I lift my head out of his reach and slide out from under the covers to get to my feet. Still, Darius looks just a touch thrown when I turn back from grabbing my shirt from where it landed on his desk. As I pull it over my head, he asks, “You’re not staying?” This is quite the conclusion to jump to, given I have to get dressed just to use the bathroom, but he’s not incorrect. He reads me a little too well, sometimes.

I hesitate, using the time required to straighten my shirt and free the few bits of my shoulder-length hair stuck under my collar to mask my awkwardness. Finally, I simply answer, “…No.” I collect my pants from the ground by my feet and start stepping into them, avoiding his gaze. For some reason, I feel the need to justify myself. I really shouldn’t, if this is just a meaningless fuck. Despite this, I reason, “I want to sleep in tomorrow,” glad for the excuse my day off provides me. “The beds are too small anyway,” I add, catching his eye and hopping marginally to help hike the pants up over my hips.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I mean, if you need a lot of space.”

“I do.” In more ways than one. As much as my loneliness was part of what drove me here, I’m not in a cuddling mood, much less one for spending the night. I blink away again and scan the room, my conflicting feelings boiling over into mild frustration. “Where the hell is my bra?” I demand.

“Don’t ask me,” he snorts. “You’re the one who threw it.” He joins me in my visual search, and a few seconds later he says, “Oh.” He points up to the clothing rack mounted on his front wall, where the bra appears to have snagged on some hangers.

“Huh,” I grunt with a blush. I walk over and untangle it, releasing a slow breath and hopefully my emotions with it. I turn around and meet his dispassionate gaze once more. He doesn’t appear hurt, but I feel another stirring of guilt in my chest all the same and round the bed to give him one last affectionate kiss. Whatever it takes to make myself feel a bit better about using him, I guess. Even if he knows that’s what I’m doing. Still, I take my time and enjoy this final embrace. When I finally pull away, I quirk my mouth into a shy but genuine smile and say, “Goodnight, Darius.”

“Night, Johanna,” he replies, reciprocating the expression. I nod genially and head for the door, pausing only to surreptitiously stuff my bra under my shirt in case someone happens to be in the hallway.

I stare blankly at the wall when I first plop down on the edge of my bed, still unsure how to feel about what I just did. I’m not sure I feel anything, except sore in all the right ways. I grin despite myself and fall back onto the mattress, relishing the lingering phantom sensation of skin on skin that I hadn’t felt in far too long. My mind may end up in even more turmoil now, but at least my body is somewhat satisfied. I’ll sleep well tonight. I’ve almost forgotten what that feels like.

***

I spend a lot of time taking advantage of my new paramour while the affair is in its early stages. I mean, taking advantage of the fact that I have him at my disposal, though I suppose both are accurate. We both agree it’s best to be discreet about the whole thing. It’s not like I’m embarrassed about sleeping with him, but it’s no one else’s business and I don’t want people jumping to assumptions about my feelings and motives. I wouldn’t like the conclusions they would come to, accurate or not. It’s easy to sneak into each other’s rooms when we’re next-door neighbors, and neither of us is especially vocal in bed, ironically enough, so there’s no worries there. However, I have a feeling it’s going to get out sooner or later. Going from spending over half our evenings at the Hob or in the Commune to only making the odd appearance is bound to raise some eyebrows.

As one might expect given those circumstances, it’s almost two weeks before I next see Katniss and Gale at the Hob. I’m leaning up against a weight-bearing post, peeking over my shoulder to watch Darius interacting with a couple of local brewers, when I catch a glimpse of the poachers bartering at a nearby stall. My gut initially jumps at the sight of the girl before gurgling unhappily, and I awkwardly turn my head to face forward. I’m not sure if I’m happy to see her or not, only that I’m rapt and fighting off an illogical sense of guilt. If anything, I should be proud of myself for moving on and getting involved with someone else, and for not thinking about her too much lately. My new activities have been a great distraction from those types of thoughts, as I was hoping. They do say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. It’s not uncommon for me to top, but hey, figuratively speaking.

“Hanna.” The sound of Katniss’s distinct gravelly voice not two feet from my ear makes me jolt in surprise.

I spin around and gasp, quite truthfully, “Shit, Katniss! You scared me.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge this comment, only remarks, “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Yeah,” I draw out, involuntarily flicking my eyes over to where I last saw Darius. He’s still there, hand talking and generally being obnoxious. “I’ve been busy.”

“Darius told me you liked that squirrel he cooked up for you when you first got here,” she declares abruptly.

I blink, confused. “Yeah, so?”

The brunette sighs in frustration and fidgets, apparently flustered by my inability to follow her obscure train of thought. “I thought you might want to buy one,” she rephrases, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I picked off a whole load of them today.”

“Afraid the baker won’t buy them all?” I grin obnoxiously.

“He only buys them if his witch of a wife isn’t around,” she grumbles. “Or when he can sneak away and meet us here, which isn’t often. I don’t usually hold them for him.”

“All right, kid,” I shrug. “Let’s see what you got.” Her lips purse and eyes narrow, but she says nothing, only rips open the bag so I can see for myself. I peek in and see a small pile of the critters, the top couple with an eye shot clean out. Curious, I rummage around to see if the same is true of the others. Upon finding she’s five for five, I try not to let my awe show on my face and instead just drawl, “Well look at you, sharpshooter.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” she comments.

It’s not, not really, but I can’t resist a good dig. “To be fair, you did hit a branch the only time I’ve seen you shoot,” I remind her. She tilts her head down at me and glowers, but I just smirk, “I know you’re a decent shooter. Just surprised by all the eye shots.”

“Decent?” she barks. “What, you think I shot them all dead in the eye from ten fucking yards?”

“How am I to know?” I shrug innocently. “You’re stealthy enough to get that close.”

She stares for a few seconds, then shakes her head and declares, “Fine, you know what? I’ll prove it to you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she huffs, “if that’s what it takes to get you to take me seriously.” She aggressively fastens her bag and swings it onto her shoulder. She’s so cute when she’s angry.

“Just how are you gonna prove it to me?” I scoff. I have a pretty good idea, but I want her to demand my participation. It’s easier to appear apathetic that way.

“I’m taking you shooting with me,” she answers decisively.

“Shooting?” I repeat, genuinely surprised by her phrasing. “You go shooting just for fun?” She doesn’t seem like someone who would have time for such forms of recreation.

“No,” she retorts flatly. “But if I take you hunting, you’ll scare all the prey away with your big mouth.”

My big mouth turns into a big grin involuntarily at that flawless comeback, but I don’t back down. “You’re seriously gonna drag me out to the woods and shoot some shit so I’ll bow at your feet, oh master archer?” I mock her. “That’s pretty desperate.”

“Desperate?”

“Yeah. Demanding people take you seriously only makes them take you less seriously,” I state. “I’m a youngest child, I know. The only way to get people to respect you is to be useful to them.”

Katniss eyes me quietly for a moment. “Is that why you became a Peacekeeper?” she finally asks. “So you can force people to take you seriously?”

“No,” I chuckle wryly. “Peacekeeping was not my first choice. That and stonecutting are what all the losers get funneled into in Two.” I look to the ceiling and muse, “Masonry, if you’re artistic, and lucky. Central defense, if you’re a nerd.”

“So what was your first choice?” she pries.

I feel the life go out of my eyes and expression as my shoulders droop. I make eye contact and sigh, “Does it really matter?”

“Oh, poor little Hanna,” she babytalks scathingly. “Has her dreams ripped away from her, has to run around with a gun instead.” She goes back to her regular voice and scowls, “Tough life.”

I suddenly lack the ability to speak, can barely even breathe. My unexpected spike of rage is so intense, I almost slap her. Instead, I breathe deeply but shakily through my teeth and try to wait out the blinding noise in my brain. When I trust myself to look at her, I see her recoiling with wide eyes. Yeah, she should be scared. “You know what?” I spit. “Fuck you.” I move to walk away, but she grabs a fistful of jacket over my chest before I can go anywhere.

“Whoa,” she interjects, putting on a brave face. “I was kidding. Sort of.” My eyes only narrow, so she rationalizes, “I was just making a point, didn’t realize that was such a sore spot.”

“I already told you it was a job I didn’t want,” I growl.

“I thought you were just saying that because I refused your gift.”

“That _is_ why I said it, but that doesn’t mean I was lying.” My voices nearly cracks on that last word, and I blink away, my eyes landing on Darius. This definitely is not the first time I’ve preferred his company to hers in any given moment. It’s starting to look more and more like I made the right choice. I don’t bother catching Katniss’s eye as I mutter, “See you.” I try to push by her again, but she steps back to maintain her leverage, her hand still firm against my breastbone.

“Wait,” she says. “Are you a good shot?”

“You wanna find out?” I sneer.

She smiles a little at her feet. “No. I’m just thinking, maybe it’s kind of similar to archery. The aiming and stuff.” I feel my murderous expression melting under her soft gaze, but it’s at least partly because, once again, I don’t follow. She detects my confusion and rambles, “I could teach you. How to shoot a bow, I mean. If you want.” I smirk inwardly. I’m a pretty damn good archer already, but Katniss doesn’t know that. Some of my amusement must show, because she smirks, “At least it gives me a reason to drag you out to the woods.” I raise my eyebrows and she quickly clarifies, “I mean, so I can show off without seeming ‘desperate.’”

I grin despite my still abating anger. “Now you’re learning to be useful,” I deadpan. Almost immediately, I realize I’m now the one on the verge of being offensive. “I don’t mean to your family,” I backpedal. “I mean to me.”

“I know,” she replies calmly. Then she smirks a little and says, “But I’m already useful to you.”

“Oh, are you?” I challenge her.

“Yeah,” she retorts, eyes playful. “Where do you get most of your meat?”

I have to stifle a laugh, because I’m a pervert. I sneak another look at Darius, who’s already looking at me like I’m a meal. I can’t really help but return the eyes. I glance back at Katniss, who’s eyeing me confusedly. I shake the lust from my face and concede, “Point taken.”

“So, do you want to go or not?” Of course I want to, but it’s probably ill-advised. But come to think of it, maybe it’s not. I’m sleeping with Darius now. I’ve got another outlet for my hormones, so maybe I can actually trust myself to be around the girl without doing anything stupid. Perhaps an unexpected benefit of my involvement with him is my increased comfort around her. Besides, I keep thinking I should make some more friends, hang out with people other than Darius and occasionally Purnia.

“Sure,” I shrug optimistically. “Sounds like fun.”

A smile starts sneaking onto Katniss’s face. “Great. How about Sunday, after I’m done with Gale and my trading? It’s the only day I’d have time to go when it’s light out.”

“Yeah, Sunday’s best for me too,” I agree. “When will you be done?”

“Maybe three or four.”

“Okay. Should I just meet you here, then we can go as soon as you’re done?” I suggest.

Katniss bites her lip and blinks away shiftily. “No.” I almost laugh out loud. Of course. How would her handsome not-boyfriend react if he noticed her rushing through their hunting and trading and then running off with me? The sadist and shit-disturber in me wants to find out, but I want to avoid drama regarding Katniss right now.

“Okay,” I say, still fighting to suppress a knowing smirk, “How about the tree where we first met? Think you can find it?”

“I know every nook and cranny of the woods within a small radius of the district,” she states plainly. “Besides, it’s hard to forget any place I almost died.” That sobers me up quickly.

I hold her gaze meaningfully and attest, “I was never going to shoot you. I swear.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Her poker face suddenly cracks and she jests, “Didn’t know back then that you’re all talk.”

I narrow my eyes despite my smile, and warn her, “You are really asking for it, Everdeen.”

“Asking for what?” she says, innocently batting her eyelashes. This kid, I swear to god.

“For me to put you in your place,” I growl.

“You can do that anytime.” She takes the lapel of my standard issue jacket in her fingers. “Just doing your job, right?”

I grip her wrist and pluck it from my jacket, my thumb slipping off the heel of her hand and into her palm. I pull my hand away slower than I should, I know. “I’ll see you at the tree at four, then?”

“Yeah,” she concurs, “I should be able to make that.”

“Cool, it’s a date.” Admittedly, I say that just to get a rise out of her and see what she’ll say.

“No, it’s not,” she counters immediately.

“You’re right, it’s not. You like boys, right?” Before she can even formulate a reply, I spin off her shoulder and back away from her, just tempting her to turn around and face me. She does. “See you then, sharpshooter.” I stick my tongue out of the corner of my mouth and pantomime shooting an arrow through her heart, then turn and saunter off toward Darius. For the first time in a while, I find myself looking forward to a Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may pound out one more chapter of this before returning to Lifeblood. I'm on a roll, here.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and helpful advice.


	6. Playing With Fire

No one likes being stood up on a first date, least of all outside in the dead of winter. It’s not only embarrassing, it’s a waste of my time that could be better spent doing more pleasant things. And more pleasant people. Yet here I am, literally twiddling my thumbs, waiting for a smug little asshole to come teach me something I already know how to do. Maybe my jokes about her sexuality and this being a date scared her off after all. I stamp around in the snow to stay warm and I glare up at the waning sun, but I don’t go anywhere, because unfortunately my gut won’t release the notion that Katniss is worth waiting for.

It must be at least a quarter after four by the time the archer comes jogging through the trees, a bow in her each of her hands. “Sorry, Ripper was especially chatty today,” she says. She holds up one of the bows. “And I had to get this,” she adds, handing it to me. I turn it over in my hands and give the string a few experimental pulls, examining the simple wood construction. This could prove to be a bit of a challenge after all. The bow is very well made for something of its kind, but I’m used to shooting less rudimentary ones that are strung a bit tighter and have arrow rests. I learned how to fashion and shoot a makeshift recurve bow in case we had another year like the one when spiked maces were the only Capitol-provided weapons, but it’s not something I devoted much time to. “Be careful with that,” Katniss warns me, interrupting my thoughts. “My father made it. I couldn’t build a bow this good to save my life.”

“Sure, you could,” I dispute with a charming smile. “You always do what you need to to survive. That’s just who you are.” Katniss smiles in return, though it’s a shy one. She blinks away and starts wordlessly heading into the forest within seconds. I fall in beside her and infer, “So it was your dad who taught you to hunt?”

“Yeah. How to shoot and track, and where to find edible plants.”

“Your family’s lucky you took to it,” I say offhandedly. Katniss gives me an unreadable look and I realize that that intended compliment might not have come off as such. “I mean, not lucky, but…” I trail off when Katniss nods, seemingly unperturbed.

“It’s okay, I know what you mean.” She stares straight ahead and deadpans, “I tried to teach Prim, but she just wanted to nurse the wounded animals back to health.”

I snicker but smile fondly. “She’s a sweet kid.”

“Yeah, but compassion is hardly a strength in a life-or-death situation,” she rebuts soberly. “Imagine if she’d been 11 and I’d been 7 when he died, not the other way around.”

“You’d have starved,” I surmise.

“Or ended up in the community home, arguably worse.” She sets her jaw and snorts. “The one thing our mother was useful for was keeping us out of there, by virtue of her being alive.”

I blink in surprise. “She wasn’t able to help out at all?”

“She tuned out completely, might as well have been dead,” Katniss divulges blankly. “Except she was another mouth to feed.” It’s a struggle to keep my face neutral when she glances over to assess my reaction. I’ve never heard such unsentimental pragmatism from someone so young, and I was in the candidacy program, for fuck’s sake. But yet, I can’t blame her. She lost both parents and her childhood in that explosion.

“I understand why you resent her, now,” I tell her sincerely. I shrug and nonchalantly venture, “At least she’s working again.”

“Yes, well, she’s happier now that she feels like she’s contributing again,” Katniss remarks with only a slight sarcastic edge. She gives me a tight smile and adds, “And Prim’s just happy to have her back.”

I eye her cautiously and deduce, “And you’re not?” I meant for that to merely sound curious and innocuous, but her face darkens.

“Save your judgments, Johanna,” she snaps. She rolls her eyes and gazes out into the trees, pointedly away from me. When she speaks again, her tone is softer, more measured. “I am, but I try not to get too excited. She still has minor episodes sometimes, and I need to be ready for the day when she leaves us again.”

“You are ready,” I affirm. “You’ve got everything under control.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says impassively, blinking my way for only a split second. Then her strides grow longer and I have to run a few steps to catch up. We arrive at a small clearing only moments later, and Katniss gets right down to business with my archery lesson. She spends at least ten minutes talking me through the process of loading and shooting, breaking it down in great detail and demonstrating the form and movements as she goes. Being somewhat of an expert already, it might be painful if I didn't find it adorable. “Okay, you try,” she says, pointing at my bow.

“All right,” I respond with feigned uncertainty, hefting the bow and taking the arrow she offers me.

“Remember, hold the arrow between your first and second fingers,” she instructs me. She looks on while I rest the arrow on the top finger of my bow hand and nock it. I’m just getting set to pull my string back when she throws out there, “You can use two or three fingers. It’s a matter of preference.” I have to choke back a laugh and just nod, not trusting my voice. Katniss proves herself to be even more innocent than I thought by furrowing her brow and keeping it that way even after several seconds of thought, but she doesn’t press for an explanation.

“Okay, let me see you aim,” she says. I take up some of the slack and sneak another look at my naïve instructor. I’m out here to have fun, right? I close my left eye and then shift my gaze from her to the target she marked on a tree about 20 yards away, and as I take aim, I purposely throw off my grip and posture slightly. Katniss immediately falls into my trap, raising a hand and saying, “Hold up.” She circles around me, looking intently at my form. “Square your shoulders,” she scolds me, straightening my torso from behind so my shoulders are perpendicular to the target. “I thought I beat you over the head with that one.”

I grin to myself. I’m enjoying this far too much already. “Sorry, teacher,” I singsong in a childlike voice. I look to my left and see Katniss glaring irritably. It only widens my smile.

“You totally are a youngest child, aren’t you?” she grumbles. I stick my tongue out at her and she pushes against my cheek to turn my face back toward the target. “Pay attention,” she chides. Turning her attention to my grip, she says, “Okay, you gotta…” She moves her fingers to my bow hand and picks at mine. “It’s not about holding it tight in your fist,” she explains, cocking my wrist back a touch. “You want the bow straining against the webbing between your thumb and forefinger. It gives you more leverage and control and it straightens your line of sight.” She frowns at my posture again and adds, “Speaking of which, pull this shoulder forward, remember?” She places a hand on my left shoulder and waits until I obey her. “Good. Now you can see straight down your arm to your fingertip, right?”

“Right,” I agree, biting my lip to hold in another smile. I almost draw blood when Katniss unexpectedly slides her hand down to rest between my shoulder blades.

“Remember, your power comes from your back,” she reminds me.

“Okay.”

Katniss drops her hand to my lower back and reaches around to place her other palm flat against my stomach. I swallow at the warm tension now burgeoning just under it. And admittedly a bit lower, too. I lick my suddenly dry lips and flit my eyes over to meet hers. They are darkened and intent, unyielding as I hold her gaze for several seconds. “And keep good tension in your core,” she finally says before dropping her hands and retreating to stand behind me. “Now, shoot.” I try to shake the focus back into my head. If I didn’t doubt her confidence in all matters sexual, I’d say Katniss was just enjoying making me uncomfortable, turning my game around on me. I hone in on the target and release my arrow, which strikes it just on the edge. I frown, but Katniss calls from behind me, “Not a bad start!”

The younger girl keeps handing me arrows, but also takes plenty of shots of her own to demonstrate various points of feedback. And to show off, no doubt, because she generally picks more interesting targets than the tree. I improve markedly once I adjust to the laxity of the string and to shooting off my pointer finger. I typically line my arrows up on the right side of my bow, so I’m more used to shooting off the webbing of my thumb if I don’t have arrow rests to work with. On the bright side, my initial struggles line up well with someone just learning to shoot, so I don’t have to act much to keep up my guise of being a beginner. I botch a shot or fall out of form here or there for effect, but overall I just enjoy my improvement. I genuinely grin when Katniss announces, “Okay, you’ve got that part down. Now let’s work on your draw.” She shrugs her quiver off and preaches, “A quick draw can save your life.”

I nod my approval rather than sassily inform her that if she really wants a quick draw, she should use a hip quiver and shoot from the right side of her bow, because that would reveal my expertise. But I hardly look or feel like an expert when I start mirroring the movements she’s showing me. I’ve shot from my back before, but I always found it awkward. Now is no exception, what with a beautiful, intimidating girl judging my performance. After several frustrating minutes of practicing only the draw up to the point of nocking the arrow, Katniss gives me permission to draw and shoot. Finally. I get my first arrow off without much trouble and throw her a cheeky grin after it lands only inches from the bull’s-eye. “How do you like that, Everdeen?”

“You’re doing great for your first time,” she says coolly.

I narrow my eyes at that backhanded compliment. “I’ve heard that one before, smartass,” I quip while I reach back for a second arrow. I’ve just freed it from the quiver when it slips out of my fingers and falls to the dirt. “Shit.” I bend down to pick it up, and my moment of mild embarrassment is suddenly accentuated by a mocking snort. I glare at the young poacher and catch her with a smug grin on her face, laughing at my expense. A surge of prideful indignation flushes my face and makes me move without thinking. I nock my arrow and settle it between my thumb and the bow as I straighten up, then shake the hair out of my face and zero in on a squirrel in a tree a good fifty yards away. I release the arrow with an angry grunt and watch with satisfaction as it skewers the creature through the neck. Not quite an eye shot, but enough to shut the little fucker up.

“Wow, that wasn’t even clo…” The falling squirrel catches Katniss’s eye and she turns to me with a stunned expression. That arrow took most of my blinding rage with it, and despite my proud smirk, I know that wasn’t my wisest moment. I’m not usually so impulsive, but Katniss Everdeen really gets to me.

“We’re allowed to fool around with weapons a bit in Two,” I explain nonchalantly. “Career district and all. Lots of us learn at least one weapon really well in case we get reaped.”

“Yeah,” she sputters, “but I thought axes were your thing.”

“I dabbled,” I shrug. It’s not a lie. I needed to be able to use whatever weapon I could get my hands on.

“Then why are we even out here?” she demands, only more confused.

I smirk and turn my palm up in a gesture of innocence. “You insisted.”

Katniss continues to regard me with narrowed eyes, but doesn’t press further. Now relieved of any need to act clueless, I end up in somewhat of a shooting contest with her. She’s definitely more accurate, but I manage to impress her with my ability to fire multiple shots in rapid succession, at least. Twilight soon chases us back to the district, but we get in plenty of competitive banter and playful glares first. When we part ways at the tree, I throw her a provocative smile over my shoulder and call out, “Thanks! Let’s do it again sometime.”

And we do. Not every week, because Katniss really doesn’t have the time, but often. By the fourth time we meet in the woods to shoot, it’s late February. The air is crisp but not chilling and the residual slush is all but gone, allowing us to trek on solid dirt paths for the first time. Buoyed by this and the sun’s height in the sky, we venture farther than usual, maybe half an hour’s walk into the forest.

Katniss started bringing a second quiver for me once I made it clear on that first day that I can handle myself, so we shoot simultaneously now, racing to empty our quivers into a set of targets or mimicking each other’s skillful shots. We’re standing less than a foot apart, wiggling some arrows out of a tree we just shot up, when Katniss glances over her shoulder and suggests, “Ever thought of bringing your hatchets along?”

I still my hands and look her way inquisitively. “Why?”

“To show off, like you do.” she shrugs. “I mean, they’re good for target practice too, right?”

“Yeah, true,” I muse. I rip the arrow from the soft bark and slip it into my quiver. “Maybe next time.”

Katniss yanks one of her own arrows out of the target and then turns around to face me, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “You think you could teach me?” she ventures.

I bite my lip in thought as I mull this over. Arming district citizens would certainly get me executed or avoxed as a traitor, but teaching one kid to use a weapon she’d normally never get her hands is probably harmless. It’s not like I’d let her run off with one of my throwing axes and stick it in Cray’s back, as much as I’d enjoy that spectacle.

“I don’t see why not,” I answer, giving her a smile that she returns with ease, something I never would have expected when we commenced these semi-regular outings.

“Any other weapons you’re good with?” she inquires. I shrug, not wanting to reveal too much. “Spears? Knives?”

“I’m okay with knives, but they were more my ex’s thing,” I reveal, purposely steering the subject to something I hope she’ll find more interesting. “I played with them a bit because she was always throwing them. She could hit a bull’s-eye from 35 yards.” I snort contemptuously and tack on, “Or, you know, lodge it in your spine when you were least expecting it.”

Katniss stares at me for several unnerving seconds before commenting, “You seem to really hate her.”

I cross my arms and spout, “Yeah? So?”

There’s a tinge of sympathy in her face and voice when she presses, “She broke your heart?” 

“She broke my everything,” I huff sourly. “It’s her fault I’m here.” Katniss lifts an intrigued eyebrow, and I instantly recognize my mistake. So much for changing the subject. Now I have to explain this, and I don’t want to lie. I sigh and start my purposefully vague account with, “I was lined up for a cushy job in Two, one that pays really well, but it’s one that very few people get to do. Like, it makes getting hired for Central Defense look easy.” Katniss nods. This part of the story, she’s sort of familiar with. “I’d spent a lot of time making connections with influential people, reading up on it and learning the skills. Clove, she was interested in the same line of work, and she said she would tell the authorities about some bad shit I’d done if I didn’t withdraw my application. She wanted to thin out her competition, I guess.” I realize too late that namedropping Clove was yet another mistake, especially now that Katniss knows her primary weapon. If Clove ends up being the DV out of Two, which is quite likely, Katniss will probably figure it out. She seems the type to remember the name of a crush’s ex.

“She’d get you arrested over a career choice?” Katniss gapes. I shrug. “What a bitch. Did she even get the job?”

“I dunno.” It’s true enough. I don’t know _yet_.

Katniss squints and picks at her lip. “What was it?”

“That’s classified,” I state immediately, my tone suddenly serious.

The hunter scoffs. “You say that about everything you don’t want to talk about?”

“No, I mean it’s actually classified,” I insist. “It’s not something people in other districts are supposed to know about. It’s not even legal.”

“So, what, you wanted to be an assassin?” she tries. “A spy?”

I snort. “Not exactly.” The girl’s curious expression does not abate, so I assert, “Look, point is, Clove’s an asshole and a traitor. I have plenty of reason to hate her.”

Katniss opens her mouth to reply, but is cut off by a thunderclap in the distance. “Crap,” she mutters. Wordlessly agreeing to get back to the district, we retrieve our remaining arrows from the trees and head east at a decent clip. It starts spitting rain before we’re even halfway to the boundary, and it quickly turns into a downpour. We begin to run, but we’re still a minute or two out when hail starts pelting us from above.

“The barracks!” I shout over the racket of thunder and hail.

“What?” Katniss shouts back.

“We can take cover at the barracks!” I repeat. She looks like she’s about to protest, but then changes her mind and just nods. We aren’t all that close to any of Katniss’s usual hiding places for her weapons, where she leaves their waterproof covers, but she scopes out a hollow log with enough space for the bows and quivers. We make do by wrapping them in our jackets, then make a mad dash for the building. I’m a pretty fast runner, but Katniss pulls way out in front of me. I push through the fence just in time to see her bound up the three steps to the M wing door and huddle under the small overhang.

She eyes me warily when I swipe my keycard on arrival and hold the door open for her. “You’re allowed to let me inside?” she asks in disbelief.

“Hell no, “ I chuckle, “it’s a major security breach.” She hesitates, so I grin and tease her, “What, since when do you care about following the rules?”

“Aren’t there cameras?”

“Yeah, but no one ever watches the footage unless something goes wrong. Don’t worry about it.” I grab her shirttail and lead her through the hallways toward my quarters, peeking around each corner to ensure the coast is clear. I stop short just as I’m about to round the final corner when I see my other next-door neighbor Athena stepping out of her room, and I shoot my hand back to stop Katniss before she comes into sight. I sigh in relief when my comrade turns south and heads for the common area, then turn back to check on Katniss and see I’ve got my hand flattened against her stomach. “Sorry,” I whisper, pulling it back and blushing slightly. She shrugs impassively, and after one more check that we’re alone, I make a beeline for my door. I urgently swipe my keycard and shove the intruder inside, glancing once more in each direction at a thankfully empty hallway before closing the door behind us. “Phew,” I chuckle, “that was fun.”

“You live for danger, huh?” Katniss remarks. I smile innocently, and she just scoffs and continues scanning our surroundings. “You get your own room."

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice,” she comments.

“Well, give me your boots before you get mud all over the carpet.” Really, it’s a shitty carpet and the boots are mostly just wet, but I don’t want to be stepping in water all night. I kick off my shoes and place them outside the door, and turn back to see Katniss just finishing unlacing her second boot. She holds them up, a few drips falling from the toes. I can’t just put them out in the hallway, as that would basically announce her presence, so I improvise and grab a dirty t-shirt from my laundry pile to wipe them down. “Your feet get wet?” I ask.

“A little,” she says, stripping off her damp socks. I put another shirt under the boots in case of any leakage and then start peeling off my own wet clothes. My socks are thoroughly soaked, as is my shirt from just that couple of minutes without a jacket. I’ve tossed them mindlessly onto the pile and am just starting to force my wet and clingy pants down my thighs when I look up and catch Katniss staring slack-jawed. I freeze for a second, but then decide it’s better to just act like it’s no big deal. I mean, really, did she expect me not to take my wet clothes off?

I wiggle a leg out of my pants and casually inquire, “Do you want some dry clothes?”

She blinks a few times. “Yeah,” she says, deliberately raising her eyes to my face, “that would be great.”

I can’t help smirking, but otherwise neglect to comment on her reaction. I mosey out into the hallway to fetch us some towels, still clad in only my wet underwear. It’s not like my neighbors aren’t used to my usual indecency. I take my towel from the bathroom and nab an extra one from the linen closet on my way back. When I get back to the room, I find Katniss examining my collection of photos and immediately tense up. I hadn’t considered before bringing her in here that some of the pictures I’ve puttied to the wall above my desk insinuate my involvement in the program. Good thing she doesn’t know it exists.

“Who is that girl?” she asks, pointing to a photo of me with Scarlett and her now famous face. In it, I’m straining up on my tiptoes to stick my tongue in Scar’s ear while she makes a comically disgusted face at the camera. I think it was Cato who took that picture, a couple years ago during the Victory Tour. That was one of the years we won and were also celebrating the Harvest Festival, as the booths in the background suggest. Katniss probably won’t put those pieces together, and her not recognizing Scarlett Caskey is a good sign, but her blank face suggests she’s suppressing some kind of emotion. I swallow and avert my eyes to the photo again. “Is that Clove?” she digs, her tone a shade harsher. Oh, so that’s why her eyes look vaguely murderous. My sigh of relief almost turns into a laugh. I was right about her remembering ex’s names. 

“No,” I say. “She’s not up there. I don’t want to see her face. That’s–” I stop myself just before I say her name. “That’s Beanstalk, as I call her.” Katniss snickers. “She’s a friend from back home. Or, maybe not a friend. I don’t know what to call her, but we spent a fair bit of time together.”

“I get that. I have a girl like that at school.” I hand Katniss the towel and hope that’s distraction enough from the topic. “Thanks.” She dabs her face with it and then shakes it open and reaches up to dry her hair.

“Actually,” I cut in, “do you want to take a shower? It’ll warm you up.” She pauses and eyes me with a hint of reproach. “And I can toss your clothes in the dryer while you’re in there.”

"You have hot showers?” she scoffs. “And machines to dry your clothes?”

“Yeah,” I declare, crossing my arms. “As a matter of fact, we do.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do,” she mutters.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” I retort bluntly. She raises an affronted eyebrow. "Fine,” I shrug theatrically, “if you have a problem with that, we don’t have to use them. I don’t even have to let you stay here until the rain stops. I can just throw you back out there in your wet clothes right now, whatever.”

“Yeah, maybe you should,” she snarks.

I groan in exasperation and snap, “Oh, just shut up and take your fucking clothes off.”

Katniss’s eyes bulge and mouth slips open a little as she blushes instantaneously, and I can’t help but smile smugly at her reaction even though I know I will probably regret the specifics of my wording later. Her eyes briefly dip back down my mostly naked figure before she catches my eye again and turns even redder. She tucks some hair behind her ear and huffs, “I’d rather have a little privacy, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine,” I say, allowing myself a chuckle at her expense. “Do it in the bathroom, just give them to me before you get in.”

I sneak Katniss over to my communal bathroom in much the same way as I got her to my room. I check that it’s empty and then guide her inside and over to the showers. I whip open one curtain to reveal the changing area in front of the shower itself. “It’s behind the second curtain,” I tell her. “It’s easy, just turn the handle to the left and it’ll turn on. Turn it farther to make it hotter.”

“Okay,” she nods. She hands me her clothes through the curtain and I go next door to the laundry room and toss them in a washing machine along with my wet clothes. Now wrapped only in my towel, I let it all spin for a couple of minutes and move it to the dryer, then return to the bathroom. “That Johanna?” Katniss asks cautiously over the splashing of water when I enter the stall next to her.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “You’re safe.” But I don’t bother taking the time to get especially clean before getting out and toweling off, because I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before someone comes in and finds us here. Katniss turns off her water just as I’m stepping out. “I’m gonna go get you some clothes, okay? Yours won’t be dry for a bit.”

“You know what?” she sighs. “Forget it. I’d rather get out of here before the wrong person sees us and I get strung up in the square.” That makes two of us, though I really doubt the consequences would be that severe. She emerges a moment later, swathed in her towel and only partially dry, and we make for the exit. I’m mere steps from the door when it unexpectedly swings toward me and I collide right into a person just entering the room. My heart plummets into my stomach, because I know who it is immediately – I’ve seen that shirt enough times on my floor. I step back and hesitantly raise my eyes to Darius’s stunned face.

“K-Katniss,” the redhead stammers, something I’ve never witnessed before. He blinks most of the shock from his expression and jokingly asks, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“We were out shooting arrows and got caught in the storm,” she explains.

“This was the closest shelter,” I chip in defensively.

“Oh, so that’s what you’ve been doing with your Sundays,” he deduces. He bounces his eyes between us, and they land on Katniss with a broad smile. “I won’t keep you.” With a sweeping dramatic gesture, he announces, “But welcome to the barracks. Enjoy your stay.”

Katniss chuckles and brushes by us. “Thanks, Darius. I’ll summon you if I need waiting on.”

“But of course, m’lady.” He pantomimes tipping an imaginary hat at her, then turns back into the bathroom. He’s still smiling when he meets my gaze, but I can see the strain behind it.

“Darius…” I say softly with a placating hand on his bicep, before he has a chance to say anything or think too much.

“Don’t worry, Johanna,” he assures me. “Your secret’s safe with me.” That’s not what I’m worried about. He’s the best person to run into here, in a sense, because there’s no way he’d tell on us. But he’s also the worst.

“Darius,” I repeat, with a firmer edge.

“I need a shower,” he says calmly, brushing me off. “I’ll catch you later.” Oh, fuck my life. So much for no drama. I turn around and see Katniss observing his retreat inquisitively, but I only shrug and usher her back to my door. Once we’re safely in the room, I hand her new socks and underwear along with a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved forest green shirt, then deliberately turn around to dress myself.

“I’ve never seen you in normal clothes,” Katniss remarks just as I’m pulling a navy t-shirt over my head.

“We’re not allowed to wear them outside the barracks,” I say over my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.” I finish pulling my shirt down and turn around to examine her more closely. The garments seem to fit her just fine aside from the conspicuous lines of skin above her socks and waistband. The fact that my clothes are too short for her but not at all too tight is kind of depressing, and indicative of her upbringing. “Sorry, I know they don’t really fit.”

“It’s fine, I like it,” she says, picking at the shirt. “It’s my favorite color.”

“I like it too. I love it in the woods.”

She catches my eye and infers, “But it’s not your favorite.”

“Red,” I say plainly, with a small smile.

“Like the blood of your enemies?” she smirks.

“Something like that,” I chuckle. Her exposed stomach draws my eyes down for a second, and this second look at her physique sends a pang of guilt through my chest. The scrawny kid is probably always hungry, but she really must be now that we were just out in the woods for hours. I’m an idiot for not thinking of this sooner, because even I’m hungry at this point. “I’ll be right back,” I promise, backing toward the door. “I’m gonna go grab us some food.”

“Okay,” she says with a touch of surprise. “Thank you.”

I make my way to the kitchen and program a large meal into the rations dispenser. The ovens in here only get used when Peacekeepers buy outside food – which, to be fair, is pretty often. The food included in our room and board comes from Martha, as they call it. Of course the troops, a decent majority of which are men, gave the closest thing we have to a cook a woman’s name. I’m not sure what they’re trying to say about females and cooking, though, because all her food comes from preserved, pre-packaged ingredients and it’s really not that great. I assume she must be a bad knockoff of the room service machines in the Training Center that Scar told me about.

We each get a limited number of points to spend per day between Martha’s computerized menu and our canned field lunches, and I max my allowance out. It’s still not really enough for two, but it’ll take the edge off until Katniss can get home, anyway. While Martha’s taking the few minutes she always does to whip up our food, I swing by the Commune and make a large mug of hot chocolate. I tray up the dishes the machine spits out along with a glass of milk and the steaming mug, then gingerly ease myself back through the halls of M wing.

I kick out a rhythm on my door until Katniss cracks it open and I can squeeze back into the room. “Wow,” she gapes at my full tray, “this is what you get for dinner?”

“This is more than I’d usually get,” I inform her, before she starts judging me again. “It was my day off, so I didn’t eat much earlier. Had rations left to spare.” I motion for her to sit down on the edge of the bed, and then I ease myself down within inches of her so we can balance the tray across my right and her left knee. I point at the tall mug and ask, “Have you ever had hot chocolate?” She shakes her head. “It’s good,” I assure her. “Sweet. You’ll probably like it.”

Katniss motions between it and the milk. “Why just one of each?”

“So we can share spit,” I deadpan. She narrows her eyes doubtfully, and I echo her gesture at the cups. “You don’t think a big tray of food and two cups of each would look suspicious?”

“Good point,” she concedes. I did snag an extra set of cutlery, however, which I find Katniss handles better than I expected when we start in on the food. I don’t want to assume too much based on where she grew up, but when some of my rather pig-like coworkers say that Seam people stuff down their food like savages, it doesn’t give me high expectations. It takes a minute of rumination before I realize that it was probably her mother’s influence, seeing as she was born Townie and all. We continue to eat in silence for a few more moments before Katniss abruptly looks up from the poorly defrosted diced beef and gravy she’s working on and says, “Can I ask you something?”

I shrug and swallow my mouthful of asparagus and almonds. “Shoot.”

Katniss purses her lips thoughtfully, her brow furrowing a touch, and my stomach slowly tenses up. “That thing Darius said,” she finally starts, “around New Year’s… about you kissing him.” Her eyes take on a new intensity, unintentionally forcing mine away. “Was it true?”

“No, it wasn’t,” I say to the tray.

“So, you haven’t kissed him?” she presses.

I look her in the eye now, and choose my words carefully. “You think I would lie about that?”

“Well, either you’re lying now or you were lying before,” she points out stiffly. “Or joking. I couldn’t tell if you were joking.”

“I was joking,” I assure her. I don’t have the heart, or the ovaries, to tell her that I much more than kissed him mere hours later, and have been in a habit of doing so ever since.

“Okay,” she breathes. “It’s just… I’m not the best at reading people and what’s going on in their heads, I know that, but that was really weird," she says, nodding toward the bathroom.

“That’s just Darius,” I reason. “He’s always a little awkward and over-the-top.” My mouth puckers a little when I give the example, “Offering you kisses for rabbits and shit.”

Katniss laughs uneasily. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

We spend the next few hours lounging on the bed, talking and waiting for the rain to stop. Katniss can surprisingly be quite the chatterbox when you get her talking about something she’s interested in. She spends a good twenty minutes describing the various herbs she gathers for her mother’s small apothecary business, what they look like and where to find them. Apparently her family has a book of sorts dedicated to this information, which I guess she had to memorize to make use of. I tell her about my family, who – despite the name – are not stonemasons. Well, one of my cousins is, but most of us are Peacekeepers or stonecutters.

“Your family works in mines too?” she gapes when I describe the job.

“Yeah,” I scoff. “Some things aren’t so different from here. Not everyone’s happy with how things are or ‘runs around with a gun.’” She bites her lip guiltily, but I press on, “It’s hard work. Dangerous, too. We haven’t had any explosions go wrong in my village in the last couple decades, but we get avalanches out there. Serious injuries that put people out of work aren’t uncommon.” I tuck one arm behind my back for effect. “Ripper doesn’t faze me at all.”

Katniss nibbles on one of her nails, hesitating a moment before prying, “Has anyone in your family…” She shifts her eyes over to mine in lieu of finishing that sentence.

“Died? Just my piece-of-shit uncle.” Her eyes widen, but I brush it off with a shrug. “It was his own damn fault, anyway. Was drunk on the job and hadn’t harnessed himself in properly. Fell two hundred feet off a ledge.” I kind of want to ask about her father, but I figure if she wants to talk about it, she’ll bring it up. She doesn’t.

In our rare quiet moments, we just lie there and listen to the rain patter on the roof and the soil outside my window. It’s during one of these that I finally remember our laundry. I retrieve it from the dryer and return to find Katniss standing by the now open window, staring out into the dark. I dump the clothes on my swivel chair and join her.

“I like the sound,” she says as I step up beside her. “It’s soothing.” The rain’s definitely lighter than it was before, but it’s still falling steadily. It’s well past nine now and I’d usually be heading to bed around this time. Unless I was already in bed, for more fun reasons. I shake that thought from my head and chew on my lip, evaluating the situation.

“Hmm,” I muse, not sure what solution to offer. “I don’t wanna send you out there in dry clothes and no jacket.”

Katniss glances over at me in surprise. “Can’t I just stay until the rain stops, like you said?”

“I thought it would be before I hit the sack,” I admit. She blinks down, and I immediately backpedal, “Hey, I don’t mind you staying here into the night. I really, truly don’t.” I do, but not for the reason she surely thinks. And I’m not about to explain the real reason. “But won’t your mom be worried?”

“My mother doesn’t have the right to be worried about me, okay?” she sneers. “I’m not her problem.” I bite my lip to suppress another unhelpful remark on that issue, and instead drum my fingers on the windowsill, weighing my options. I know I’ve been playing with fire with this girl, testing my self-imposed boundaries, but this goes way beyond my comfort zone. Shooting in the forest with her is one thing. Sharing a twin bed is a whole other animal. “Well, unless you want to drive me home in one of the trucks,” she suggests, interrupting my thoughts, “I think that’s our best option.”

“They’re not for personal use,” I counter. “That’s one rule they definitely would enforce. I can’t just go running off with government property.”

“I figured. I’ve never seen any of you guys drive to or from the Hob.”

“See?” I smirk. “You are observant.”

She shrugs, a small smile coming over her face. “With some things.”

“Oh, yeah?” I chuckle, poking her in the ribs. “What else, then?”

Katniss is suddenly gazing intensely into my eyes, and I have to fight the impulse to look away from that penetrating stare. She doesn’t speak for a long moment. “You’re scared,” is what she finally says. “And tired.”

I cross my arms and scoff, “I thought you said you can’t read people.”

“I can read behaviors in animals that help me hunt them,” she explains. “People are different, but I can still see those same emotions, under all the acting.” She tilts her head, biting her top lip and examining me closer. “Are you afraid I’m gonna kill you in your sleep?”

“Like I couldn’t take you,” I snort.

“I’m sure you could more than take me,” she concedes, blinking up and down my small but athletic body. “So what’s the problem?” I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration. I really need to learn to think before I speak. And the little fucker, is she saying this shit on purpose? Or is she totally oblivious to the double entendres that keep coming out of her mouth? I open my eyes to see Katniss’s face slowly going blank. “Was someone else gonna come over or something?”

“What? No!” I protest. “No one was coming over.” Maybe Darius would have if he hadn’t seen us together, but I doubt he’s in the mood now. Katniss looks far from convinced, though. I sigh and scratch the back of my head, trying to regain my composure. If Katniss thinks she’s picking up on lies, then I have to be very truthful with her so she can tell the difference. I look her dead in the eye and tell her earnestly, “I want you here. I do. I’m just trying to be responsible.”

“I’ve told you time and time again, I can take care of myself,” she insists, but her eyes ease up despite her frustration. I can breathe again.

“Okay,” I relent, mostly just relieved to have escaped that psychological assessment unscathed. “You can stay until the rain lets up or until I have to go to work, one or the other. If you get caught here while I’m gone, I can’t protect you.”

“Protect me?” she demands, eyebrows arching up in insult. “What did I just say, Johanna?”

“I meant with my word, brainless. If I say I invited you in, they’d probably let you off pretty easy, and I’d be the one in trouble. But if you’re some random local who’s infiltrated the barracks…” I whistle. “You’d be fucked. And not in a good way.”

She considers this momentarily and agrees, “Okay, that’s fair. I have to go to school a few hours after you leave, anyway.”

We go through another awkward round of back-to-back changing, into pajamas this time, and then have to sneak back to the bathroom once more so I can brush my teeth and Katniss can pee without having to wake me up to accompany her later on. Her bladder isn’t shy, go figure. The second I hear my door click shut behind us upon our return is when my nerves really kick in, though. I glance over at Katniss, who’s scratching behind her ear and examining the room. “So… where am I sleeping?” she asks.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Whichever side you prefer.”

“So, in the bed,” she concludes. I incredulously squint her way and she twitches her mouth amusedly. “I didn’t want to presume anything.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not a heartless bitch.” Katniss smirks, and I shoot her a warning look. I nod at the bed and repeat, “Your choice.” She wordlessly pulls back the covers and scoots over against the wall, then widens her eyes meaningfully. “Okay,” I say, flicking off the lights. I slip in beside her and she drapes the blankets over me before I have a chance to grab them. “Thanks,” I say, turning onto my right side and pulling them tight into my chest. I curl into myself and try not to think about how close she is.

***

I wriggle a little as I blink myself into waking. My skin is all clammy and it makes me shiver despite the excess heat in my bed. Still half-asleep, it doesn’t strike me as unusual until a warm breeze hits the back of my neck and my eyes snap wide open. Waking up quickly and being ready to fight or run immediately is something I practiced while in the program. They said it’s one of the most underrated skills, so I worked on it, and I forced Clove to as well. It was fun, anyway, pouncing on her when she was asleep and scaring the shit out of her.

Now breathing heavily, my senses go into overdrive and I feel the warm pressure of a living body against my back, as well as the weight of an arm looped over my ribcage. I blink down without moving and peer at the foreign appendage in the dim light of early dawn, then sigh as my adrenaline clears once I note the olive skin tone. Katniss slept over because of the rain, I remember now. I woke up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and found it had stopped, but she was sleeping so peacefully I couldn’t make myself wake her and kick her out.

I check my clock and see it’s a quarter after five, meaning I need to get up soon anyway, but I dawdle. I’ve now detected Katniss’s right arm wedged underneath my head and the bit of the pillow it’s still resting on; she’s essentially wrapped around me, and it will be difficult to extricate myself without waking her. Admittedly, I’m also stalling because I’m extremely comfortable like this. But I shouldn’t let myself get used to it.

I groan under my breath and grasp Katniss’s wrist, gently freeing her hand from where it’s trapped between my ribcage and the mattress. I lift it so I can discreetly slide out from under her arm, but pause when her hand comes into plain view. Her palm is a little rough, either from the labor of hunting or by virtue of it being her bow hand, I imagine. Maybe from climbing trees, like she did that first day. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m grazing my thumb over the meat below hers and tilting her hand various ways to get a better look. The creases in her palm are deep and her fingers are long, nails bitten down to stubs. My right hand suddenly twitches where it rests on the mattress, its fingers filled with an urge to slip between hers. I sigh with an ironic smile. Here I am, worrying about taking advantage of her, when I actually have the purest of intentions. I just want to know what it feels like to hold her hand. It’s almost embarrassing to admit. What am I, twelve?

Katniss stirs behind me, pulling me back to the moment, and I realize my thumb has migrated to the center of her palm. I still my hand but strain my neck to get a decent view of her face over my shoulder and see if she’s waking up. Her eyes flutter adorably and then settle on me. She smiles warmly, at least until she notices the positioning of her arm and the way I’m gripping her hand. Alarmed, she draws it back over my side. “Sorry, I… it’s a habit,” she falters, blushing up a storm. “I share a bed with my sister. Sometimes I’ll hold her if she’s having a nightmare.”

Great, now she’s the embarrassed one. I roll my eyes to myself and turn over, my face settling mere inches from hers. Her other arm is still supporting my head, whether she’s realized that yet or not. “Was I having a nightmare?” I inquire curiously.

“I don’t remember,” she admits.

“Neither do I.” I extricate my right hand from where it’s now uncomfortably wedged between our torsos and lay my palm on her ribcage instead. She’s gazing down her body at my hand when I suggest, “Maybe I was having a good dream.”

She blinks up and holds my gaze with a keen intensity. “Could be,” she whispers.

A loud knock suddenly resounds throughout the room, making us both flinch. I screw my eyes shut and groan inwardly. Not again. “Jo?” Darius calls from outside. Katniss narrows her eyes and mouths the nickname back to me as a question, but I shake my head in a silent command to let it go. “Johanna, I need to talk to you,” Darius insists, knocking again.

“Fuck,” I mutter, glancing between the door and my bedmate. I don’t have time to get Katniss dressed and out the window before Darius gets suspicious, and I don’t want him to know she’s still here. That’s just way too much awkwardness for me to deal with this early in the morning. Katniss appears rather anxious too, and doesn’t protest when I whisper, “Hide.” I plant my feet on the floor and call, “All right, all right, I’m coming!” at the door, motioning for Katniss to get under the bed. I deliberately shout a few obscenities while she does so to mask the noise, and push my chair forward to conceal her clothes still sitting there. I step toward the door and, at the last second, spy her boots sitting under my clothing rack and toss them under the bed. I flick my lights on, whip open the door, and grumble, “Can’t let a girl get her beauty sleep?”

“Like you need one,” he scoffs, eyeing me up.

I roll my eyes and shake the start of a flattered smile from my face. “What do you want, Hallett?”

He peeks past me and observes, “Katniss is gone?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “What’s it to you?”

“I just didn’t hear her leave.”

“You were probably asleep.” I say. “It was after the rain stopped.”

“Ah,” he nods, eyes darting back into my room. “Can I come in?” I casually shrug and step back to let him by. He sits down on my bed and only waits for the door to click shut before demanding, “Are you trying to get yourself discharged? Or worse?”

I shrug innocently. “Hey, pardon me for not knowing what rules carry any weight around here.”

“Use your common sense, Johanna. The barracks is locked for a reason,” he scolds me. “You can’t just bring civilians in here anytime you feel like it.”

“You’re the one who told her to enjoy her stay,” I parry.

“Because I trust her, and because it wasn’t her fault.”

“Yeah, exactly,” I emphasize. “She’s trustworthy. It didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But it could have. If you’d gotten caught…” He shakes his head, holding my gaze as he trails off. “You know Cray has it out for you, and you’ve already been suspended once. He’d come down harder on you than most.”

I snort disgustedly. “Cray just hates me because I basically called him fucked up when I found out about his thing for teenagers.”

Darius pops his eyes pointedly. “Well, that probably wasn’t the smartest thing you could have done on your first day.”

I feel my eyes light on fire and my face morph into a scowl as I cross my arms. “You’re not actually defending him, are you?”

“No, this has nothing to do with him,” he quickly denies. “I think you’re playing with fire and you should cool it.”

“Cool what?”

“Cray tolerates Gale and Katniss because they’re the best poachers in the district,” says Darius. “But he also thinks they’re troublemakers. You might want to avoid seeming too cozy with them.” I can’t very well tell Darius that Cray basically encouraged me to get involved with Katniss as a mole, not with her hiding less than a foot under his butt. I decide to go on the offensive instead.

“Me, too cozy?” I retort. “You’re the one who was trying to convince the girl to trade a rabbit for one of your kisses.”

“Yes, but I have no intentions of trying to fuck her,” he snaps. “You know that.”

My mouth drops open and I indignantly scoff, “What, and you’re saying I do?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

My face goes stony, my voice deep and quiet. “Darius. You know what happened back in Two, and how broken up I was over it. You need to be very, _very_ careful what you say next.” He follows that advice and takes his time choosing his words. But the tactic he shifts to is almost worse with Katniss in earshot.

“I told you I don’t want drama, Johanna,” is what he says. “I said if we’re gonna do this–” 

I cut in before he can reveal too much. “There is no drama. Calm down.”

“I am calm,” he states. “But if you’re sleeping with someone other than me, I think that’s worth talking about.” I cringe as those fateful words tumble off his tongue. Fuck this asshole. Now I’ll have to do damage control with Katniss as well.

“First of all, I am not sleeping with Katniss,” I spit, planting my hands on my hips. Okay, so I slept with her last night, but not like that. I narrow my eyes at the target of my wrath and continue, “Secondly, when you said you wanted to keep things casual and non-dramatic, I assumed that meant I wouldn’t have to deal with you coming in here and whining like a little bitch because you’re jealous. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m not jealous,” he denies immediately.

“Sure you are,” I stab. “I saw it in your face last night.”

“Yeah? Well, I see things in your face all the time, too,” he deflects. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

I tuck my tongue under my lower lip and chuckle sardonically out my nose. “Are you really that insecure? That me looking at an attractive girl threatens you?”

“I just want you to be honest with me about what’s going on,” he insists. “When I said, ‘No drama,’ I meant we’d be up front with each other, like friends should be. Not sneaking off to meet up with other people behind each other’s backs.”

“Then you should have specified that that’s what you wanted. And I wasn’t sneaking around behind your back. Do I have to tell you where I’ve been every second of every fucking day?” My alarm starts blaring just as I finish that sentence, and I storm over to smack the snooze button and shut the damn thing up. I sigh into the suddenly heavy silence and slowly pivot to meet the redhead’s eye again. “You don’t own me, Darius,” I say plainly.

“I never said I do,” he argues weakly. He sighs and rubs his face with his palms. “Fine, I’m jealous. I admit it. But I’m jealous because you’re keeping me in the dark.”

“Then let me lay it out for you. Katniss and I shoot arrows in the forest sometimes on Sunday afternoons.”

“And that’s it?” he asks doubtfully.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I sneer. “For fuck’s sake, Darius, she’s fifteen.”

“And very mature for her age,” he points out. “And a stunner, according to your tastes.”

“It doesn’t matter what my tastes are, she’s too young,” I reiterate. “Not to mention a local. And even if I did like her, I thought you said you were fine with me having feelings for other people.”

“Clove was in the past,” he clarifies.

“Yeah, and she’s really in the past now,” I say, holding his gaze meaningfully. He exhales slowly, and some of the aggression leaves his posture. “I like what we have going here, okay?” I tell him. “It’s fun, and it’s easy. Let’s not change that with all this bullshit.”

Darius chuckles to himself and stands up. “The problem is, you don’t like easy. Not really.” He leans down and pecks me on the lips. I don’t return the kiss, because I'm still angry. But I don’t stop him, either. “I’ll see you at the briefing.”

I stand there awkwardly as I listen to his footsteps fading away toward the common area, unsure of what to say to Katniss. Once it’s clear that we’re alone again, I sigh in a mix of relief and resignation to the impending confrontation. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“That’s what you’re sorry about?” The girl crawls out from her hiding spot and stands up to her full height, looking down on me with disdain. “You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t,” I argue. “I specifically worded what I said to make sure I wasn’t lying.”

“Then you misled me. That’s just as bad.” She brushes past me and peels off her pajama top on the way to where her clothes are piled.

“Okay, fine, I misled you,” I confess, trying not to trip over my words. “But we’ve been misleading everybody,” I say to her back while she fastens her bra. “We haven’t told anyone, Katniss. What makes you so special, that I should tell you?”

“Because I asked you!” she snarls, whipping around before she’s even finished slipping the straps over her shoulders. “I asked you, and I expected an honest fucking answer.” I swallow, fighting to keep my eyes on the flushing skin of her face and nowhere else. Right now, I’m really resenting my penchant for angry sex.

“Maybe your expectations are too high,” I retort. Katniss scoffs and pulls her shirt over her head, much to my relief. “I have other priorities besides keeping you happy, you know.”

“Yeah, clearly,” she snaps.

I narrow my eyes and take a predatory step forward. “You really think the entire world revolves around you, don’t you? It doesn’t matter to you that I have an arrangement with Darius that I don’t want to betray. It’s all about what you think I owe you.”

“Oh, like some respect, for instance?” Her jaw twitches. “Or am I too young for that, too?”

“You have my respect, Katniss,” I assure her. She snorts cynically and then shoots me a pointed look and motions for me to turn around. I obey, but insist, “Really. I’ve told you before, I admire you and everything you do.” I briefly hesitate before admitting, “I don’t see you as a child. I said that to get him to shut up about you.”

The rustle of clothing behind me pauses. “Why did you want him to shut up about me?”

“Because he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Katniss chuckles acerbically, and I hear her forcibly yank her pants up. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” she grumbles. I throw her a questioning look over my shoulder, but she shakes her head and looks down, ostensibly to zip up her pants. I inch closer. When she lifts her head, the strain has returned to her face, and the ire to her eyes. “I understand why he’s angry,” she divulges. “Do you do this with everyone? Tell them what they want to hear to their face so they’ll like you or, god forbid, trust you, even if it’s totally false? Tell me you respect me to make me happy, insult me to make Darius happy?” She tilts her head challengingly, but her voice almost catches when she continues, “Is this all some kind of game to you? A bunch of secrets and lies you tell yourself and everyone else?” 

I swallow down my excess emotion so I can at least appear calm, but my reply is earnest all the same. “I’m just trying to keep everything from blowing up in my face.” That’s about the best explanation I can give right now. Apparently it’s not good enough for Katniss, because she just shakes her head disappointedly and sidesteps by me. I watch as she sits down on the bed, snatches her boots from under it and wiggles her feet down into them, but she makes a point of not looking at me. “What more do you want me to say?”

She stands abruptly, not bothering to tighten the laces the run the length of her boots. “I’m not interested in being one more consideration you have to manage, one more piece in whatever game you’re playing,” she asserts. Her face and gaze both harden as she stares down at me. “So, let me help you with your balancing act.” She marches to the window and pushes it open, swinging the pane up and out, and braces her foot on the bed so she can climb onto the windowsill.

She’s already halfway out the window by the time I manage a weak, “Katniss, wait.”

Katniss looks back, but only in the literal sense. “Come find me when you have a better answer.” With that, she drops to the ground.

***

I jolt as the shrill sound of the school bell rings through the open windows of the hummer, and Cedric laughs from the driver’s seat. “Don’t tell me you were sleeping?”

“Nah, I’m having flashbacks,” I joke. “Haven’t been out even six months.” I can’t very well admit that I startled out of anxiety. It already looks shady enough that I bribed Tory to switch assignments with me this morning.

My partner for the day laughs again and undoes his seatbelt. “You’re not the first, don’t worry about it.” He hops out the door and prompts me, “Time to get to work, kiddo!”

I bite my lip at the sound of his door slamming shut, hesitating a moment to suck in a steadying breath. I catch up to him halfway to the nearest stone picnic table and casually inquire, “Who has the first lunch?”

Cedric swipes some residual water from the table surface before settling down on it, carelessly planting his muddy boots on the bench seat. “Sixes, nines, twelves, fifteens,” he rattles off. My heart flutters at that last word. District Twelve’s schooling system resembles the one back home in that the grades are grouped based on the age the kids were as of July 1st, the day of the last reaping. I hear they don’t have a summer break here, though. In Two, schools take the month of July off so the students can watch the Games before starting the new school year. A victor is usually crowned within the first few weeks, but if not, the kids get an extended vacation. Of course, they always hope for a drawn out Hunger Games.

“Cool,” I nod, watching as a bunch of small children pour out of a nearby door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I gesture out into the sizeable schoolyard. “To do a sweep, obviously.”

“You don’t have to do that. All the action happens down here.” He points at the decrepit playground about twenty yards away. “Little ones fighting over the swing sets, falling off the monkey bars.” He nods toward the far end of the building. “Occasionally a fight will break out, but mostly the only interesting thing you’ll find down there is teenagers making out.”

“Gross,” I sneer, making a face.

My graying comrade chuckles and reminds me, “You’re a teenager.”

“Whatever,” I grumble. I start backing away and lift my radio. “Call me if you need backup. You know, if you can’t handle a few bickering six year-olds.” Cedric waves me away, his expression some combination of amused and annoyed. I stroll along the building’s length, making an effort to square my shoulders and keep my head up so I don’t look as nervous as I feel. Besides, I’m going to need some semblance of authority to pull off my scheme. I scan the line of picnic tables near the building and the field beyond, where a few twelves are throwing a ratty old football around. I’m on the verge of giving up and continuing my search inside when I catch sight of a dark brown braid beyond some straggling fifteens just exiting the building. I crane my neck to get a better look and approach slowly.

Katniss is not wearing the slightly oversized leather jacket I often use to identify her, but I’m sure it’s her once I get a clear view of how she’s sitting cross-legged on the stone bench, slouched over the table and not really looking at the blond girl eating across from her. I swallow down a smile at the telltale mannerisms that I’m starting to find oddly endearing, pull my shoulders back again and march the last stretch to the picnic table. The blonde spots me when I’m still a good ten feet away, and alarm starts washing over her features. Katniss, of course, doesn’t notice. I halt a few feet to the brunette’s right and boom, in my deepest and most authoritative voice, “Katniss Everdeen?”

The girl turns her head and startles at the sight of me. There’s panic in her eyes as they jump from my vest to my gun to my face, but after a brief moment there, she recognizes me beyond the visor that partially obscures the top half of my face. At that point, the fear fades to irritation. “Yes?” she asks icily.

I make a come hither motion with my hand and command, “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“Am I under arrest?” she demands.

“Not if you cooperate. I just have a few questions for you.” I reach down and get a grip on her upper arm to make it clear that I’m not asking. Katniss purses her lips and begrudgingly gets up, snatching what’s left of her bread, if you can call it that, off the table. I turn to the worried girl across from her and assure her, in a somewhat kinder tone, “Not to worry, miss. I’m sure I’ll have her back to you in no time.”

Katniss angrily but silently devours her remaining bread as I escort her across the yard, a hand on the small of her back. Several kids watch with interest, but they look away as soon as I give them the evil eye. As we near the playground, Cedric spots us and starts to stand up, but I motion for him to stay put. I grab one of Katniss’s upper arms again and guide her around the back of the truck so we can have some privacy. The second we’re out of sight, she shakes my hand off her arm and hisses, “Are you insane? Prim will have a heart attack if she hears about this before I meet her after school. She was scared stiff when I didn’t come home last night.”

I calmly remove my helmet and shake my hair loose. “We weren’t done our conversation,” I reply matter-of-factly, resting it on my hip.

She scoffs in disbelief. “Johanna, you do not get to just arrest me anytime you want to force me to listen to you. What the heck is wrong with you?” She doesn’t give me time to respond before ranting, “You know, this is just like you. Saying you have respect for me, and then pulling something like this. Clearly, you have no understanding of the word.”

“Would you rather I cozy up to you and start chatting you up like we’re best friends?” I suggest mockingly. “I’m sure that would go over well with the other kids.” I smirk and punch her shoulder lightly. “At least if I’m arresting you, you’re a total badass.”

“Yeah, or dead,” she snaps, but I catch a hint of levity in her tone. She sighs and toes the ground, scratching behind her ear. “What do you want, Hanna?”

“I want to talk to you,” I reply simply. “I wanted to this morning, but you were being ridiculously aggressive and I couldn’t have a real conversation with you.” Katniss catches my eye with a mild glare, but doesn’t disagree. “Why were you so mad at me?”

“Because you made me feel like an idiot,” she snaps. “I believed you when you said there was nothing going on between you two.”

“I didn’t say–”

“You know what I mean.” Her eyes cloud over and she begins chewing on her lip, so I wait for her to speak again. Eventually, she inquires, “Why didn’t you want him to know I was there?”

“Darius?” She nods, and I’m quick to point out, “You didn’t complain when I told you to hide.”

“I was caught off guard when he knocked. I didn’t think anything of it until later, after you kept insisting we’re not involved,” she explains. She exhales heavily and takes a moment before asking, “Are you ashamed to be spending time with me?”

“It’s… it’s not you,” I falter. “It’s a long story.”

“More vague answers,” she sighs dismissively. “You’re wasting my time.”

“I want to explain, but it’s something I _am_ ashamed of.”

“So, you actually don’t want to explain,” she concludes.

“Not that part, no.” Before she can move to leave, I brace my hand against her collarbones and add, “But I want to be honest with you. That’s why I’m here.” Katniss crosses her arms and leans back against the side of the hummer, raising her eyebrows expectantly. I take a deep breath and try to channel my inner wordsmith and all my sincerity. “You’re not a game to me, okay? I’m not trying to toy with you, I swear.” I bite my lip and briefly let my eyes hit the dirt. “I’m not trying to toy with anyone, but there’s a lot going on and… and you’re right, I suck at this balancing act. It’s all very confusing, and I’m trying to do my best for everyone, including myself, but I keep fucking up.”

“It’s impossible to please everyone,” she declares. “But I think this morning made me it pretty clear where your priorities lie.” I lift an eyebrow, and she unexpectedly sighs and drops her blank face. Betrayal and touch of hurt is palpable in her expression when she elaborates, “You said you didn’t want things to change with Darius. That whole thing seems very important to you for something that’s supposedly ‘casual’ and ‘fun.’”

It’s as much a challenge as it is a question when I demand, “Why do you even care that I’m sleeping with Darius?” I don’t know why I even bother asking, because I’m pretty damn sure of why. Maybe her unexpected vulnerability broke me down. Maybe I just want to hear her say it.

But Katniss doesn’t say anything at all. She rolls her eyes, scoops her hands under the straps connecting my breastplate and shoulder guards, and abruptly mashes our lips together. She holds her mouth there, unmoving, for a few seconds before pulling back, her face clouded with uncertainty. I can only blink for the first few seconds after that as I try to regain my balance and focus. By the time I’ve got my thoughts together enough to comprehend that Katniss Everdeen just kissed me, her mouth has slipped open and her eyes are jumping around my face in a panic. “I… uh…” is all that makes it out of her mouth as it starts moving with soundless words. It’s perhaps the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Fuck my reservations. Fuck it all.

I push up on my toes and press my lips against hers again before she can attempt to say another word. Her eyes grow almost comically, but she at least has the presence of mind move her lips a little in response. Her mouth is still hanging partway open, so I swipe my tongue along the inside of her bottom lip and am rewarded with a gasp. Dropping my helmet, I reach up and loop my arms around her neck, leaning forward to melt into her and sandwich her body between my armor and the truck. Her hands slide down my sides to rest tentatively on my hips while I work my tongue further into her mouth and probe hers. She responds slowly but deliberately, establishing a soft rhythm, and I instinctively shut my eyes and release a tiny moan into her mouth. Suddenly, her fingertips are digging into my flesh and her lips are moving feverishly, and we have to pull apart before long because we’re both gasping for air.

“Fuck,” I pant, staring up into those charcoal eyes that are holding mine with a relentless intensity.

“Wow,” she agrees.

I scoff under my breath and reflect, “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” Katniss growls. My eyes swell, along with other things, and I have take a step back before I do something completely inappropriate. “Is it Darius?” she asks with an accusing undertone. “You still wanna be with him?”

“Kind of,” I admit, “but it’s not just that. I told you, it’s confusing.” She cocks her head, her eyes hard again, so I jab, “Well, with all the people vying for your attention, I’d think you’d have had some conflicting feelings at one point or another. Your hunting partner, for instance?”

She scowls at the ground. “Gale and I are just friends. I’m not interested in him like that.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Her head snaps back up and she steps closer. “Yeah, I don’t wanna do that to Gale.” She slides her hands onto my hips again. “He doesn’t make me feel like this.” She dips her head slower this time, allowing me the time to anticipate and tilt my face up to meet her. I’m sure I’ll be having another serious crisis of conscience before the day is up, but for now, the only emotions I can feel are contentment and pure elation.

We linger in this embrace awhile longer than our earlier ones, lazily drawing circles over each other’s teeth and tongues, before Katniss lifts her mouth out of my reach. “I should go,” she whispers. “Before my lunch is over or Madge goes and tells Prim I’m in trouble.” I nod and brush a piece of hair from her face. Her cheeks flush a little and she blinks away, a tiny smile curling the corner of her mouth. “I… I’ve never done this before,” she blurts. She catches my eye again right away to gauge my reaction.

“Kissing a girl?” I smirk. “Or kissing anyone?”

“Anyone.”

I know I can’t suppress the grin that wants to split my face open, so I don’t try. “Well, Miss Everdeen,” I proclaim, “it was an honor.” Truly, I am honored, but also kind of relieved. She may say she’s not into Gale, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried something at one point or another.

Katniss’s blush only deepens and she blinks down again, her eyes landing on my helmet. She stoops to pick it up and brush it off. I hold out my hands to take it from her, but she surprises me by lifting it all the way to my head and tugging it down to fit snugly over my crown. I tilt my face up, allowing her to secure the strap under my chin, and then she smooths her hands over the small brim atop my half-visor and smiles at me through the shield. A moment of hesitation later, she tips my chin back up and ducks and tilts her head so she can maneuver around the barrier and connect our lips one more time.

We keep the moment brief, but I remember something else in the middle of it and start pulling on the fingers of my right glove so I can free my hand. Once I wiggle it loose, I reach up and steal Katniss’s left hand from where it rests just under my jaw. She pulls her mouth away questioningly as I pluck her hand from its spot, looking on as I extend our arms to the ground and lace our fingers together on the way down. She squeezes approvingly but shoots me another curious look. “Sorry,” I murmur, flushing bright red. “I just… wanted to know what that felt like.”

Katniss quirks her mouth in acknowledgement and bends our elbows again to leave a faint kiss on my knuckles. Then she squeezes one more time before dropping my hand and backing away. “See you soon?” she says as she reaches the back of the truck. A memory suddenly sweeps over my mind, and I’m smirking devilishly before I can even deliver the punch line.

“God, I hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Independence Day to those of you on the crazy side of the border, eh? ;)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed these quick three chapters. I have a self-imposed deadline for finishing certain parts of Lifeblood, and I really need to get back to it, but I wanted to conclude this sort of mini plot arc and leave you with something good before putting this fic on hiatus. It was D7P who convinced me to write this chapter first, so you all can thank her. It was a good call. And don't worry, I swear I'm coming back to this. There's a lot of great stuff in store for this fic, and I'm very excited to get into the canon timeline and take it new places.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and the technical advice regarding archery. She has many skills. :)


	7. Territory

I let the frosty chain-link fence recoil into place behind me and retrieve my thermos from where I wedged it into the crook of my opposite elbow. I give the area between me and the barracks an uneasy scan, my other hand twitching where it’s positioned under my bulky jacket, clutching my hatchets to my torso. The upside of the late winter cold snap that yesterday brought is an easy means of concealment for my illegal weapons. I’m no good at refusing Katniss’s requests, even ones that could land me in trouble.

My heart flutters with anticipation as I make my way to our tree. I only saw the girl once this week, and even then we barely talked. I wanted to go to the Hob every night for more chances to run into her, but I didn’t want to seem overeager or give Darius even more reason to be suspicious. We were there with a small group of coworkers when Katniss and Gale came in from hunting on Thursday evening, but I wandered a little ways to make a purchase from Ripper so she would feel more comfortable approaching me. She did, but stuck around just long enough to confirm we were on for Sunday before scuttling back to Gale. I’m not sure if it was because she was uncomfortable around me or around Darius, but she didn’t stick around after that.

I spy movement when I near our meeting place, and quickly make out Katniss pacing around in the cold. She’s back to wearing her thermal pants and has her knit cap pulled down tight over her ears.

“At least there’s no snow?” I call out a little too cheerfully.

Katniss halts her movement and snarks, “Since when are you the type to look on the bright side?”

“Look who’s talking,” I retort lightly as I cozy up to her. I smirk and extend the thermos to her. “But, on the bright side, I brought some liquid warmth.”

Katniss snatches the bottle and eagerly unscrews the cap. Upon glimpsing the brown liquid inside, she mutters, “Oh my god” and swallows a huge glug. She takes a couple more before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and passing it back to me. “Thank you, you’re a goddess.”

I smirk into the drink and mumble, “Heard that one before, too.” I tip it back and watch as Katniss’s eyes narrow. She’s getting better at catching my sexual innuendos. I enjoy a few mouthfuls of the rich, sweet fluid before handing the bottle back to her. “That’s not my only surprise,” I add, pulling my axes out of their hiding place. Her face lights up and she quickly seals the thermos and takes one of the weapons in her free hand.

“Wow, this is light,” she remarks as she rotates her wrist to get a look from various angles.

“No kidding, brainless.” She glares at me and I can’t help but laugh. “They need to be light if you want to toss it any distance with one hand.”

“Mm, I suppose,” she grunts, tucking it into her belt. I pop my eyes cheekily and she nods at the extra bow and quiver propped up against a nearby log. “Thought we were sharing.”

“True,” I admit. “I don’t really like sharing, to be honest.”

“Neither do I.” From the edge in Katniss’s tone and the height of her eyebrow, I know she’s not talking about weapons. I don't respond, just blink away and walk over to fetch the ones she left for me. A smile tugs at my lips because I honestly find it endearing when she’s territorial, and I know she’s just trying to get across how much she likes me. It’s working. Still, I don’t want to have this conversation right now.

I sling the quiver over my shoulder, grab the bow and follow Katniss, brittle twigs snapping under our boots on the frozen dirt path. She stops at the nearby clearing, perhaps because she doesn’t want a long trek back in the cold and perhaps because she doesn’t want a long trek back with me. I don’t know.

“So are we shooting, or do you want to start right in on the axes?” I casually ask to break the silence.

“Let’s toss. I think that’ll warm me up more.”

I grin into the collar of my jacket. “If you want me to keep you warm, you can just say so.”

Katniss narrows her eyes, but the corner of her mouth turns up a little. “You wish.”

I throw her my sassiest smirk and lay the archery implements on the ground. I swing my arms in a few large circles to loosen them up and then strip off my fingerless gloves that will only impair my grip. Katniss follows my lead, shucking her own mittens and slipping her fingertips out of her archery glove.

“Okay,” I start. “First thing we’re gonna work on is your grip.” I barely resist the urge to make a crack about finger positioning being very important. Cat and mouse requires as much hanging back and teasing as it does making the prey uncomfortable. It’s much more fun and effective to lure the prey into coming to you. And this game of control is no fun if I can’t even control myself.

I make her mirror my slow-motion movements while we go over some basics – judging distance, weight transfer, timing of release – before demonstrating an actual throw with full force. The blade sticks deep and strictly vertical in the center of a thin tree maybe fifteen yards away. I smile at my perfect throw, but Katniss hardly looks impressed.

“That’s as far as you can throw it?” she sasses me.

“You wouldn’t want to throw it any farther,” I lecture her, rolling my eyes. “Not practically. It’s not like arrows or throwing knives, where you have a bunch of them and they’re of little use for defense. If you have only one axe and you throw it, you’re unprotected until you can grab it from the vic’s body.” Katniss squints slightly, and I make a mental note to avoid using casual slang when discussing human kills. “They’re more useful for close combat,” I say in summary.

My student looks vaguely disappointed, but nods her understanding. I throw a few more times, making her watch how I put all the elements together, before selecting a wider tree at about half the distance for her to aim at. “Remember, hold it like a handshake,” I remind her as she lines up to toss. “And if you throw it with the right amount of force, it should make just one rotation from this distance.” She nods and wastes no time slinging the axe, which spins a bit too much and wobbles slightly en route before smacking the wood hard and deflecting high into the air. A small group of mockingjays flees the foliage with urgent chirps just as the axe lands halfway to the tree.

“Damnit,” she mutters, glaring at the traitorous weapon. I want to make fun of her like she did to me, but I can’t help myself.

“It’s harder than it looks,” I sympathize. This just makes her glare even harder, and at me. I decide it might be in my best interests to roll out the flattery. “On the bright side,” I venture with a hopefully disarming grin, “you just scared the shit out of those birds. If your bow was loaded, you could’ve had a little something extra to bring home to Mommy.” I’ve seen Katniss take down a goose in flight before, one of our other times shooting. But she shakes her head.

“I’d only shoot at a mockingjay if I was starving,” she says, her voice suddenly toneless. I squint curiously and she shrugs, “It isn’t worth it. There’s not enough meat on them to risk losing an arrow, and their flight paths are too erratic.”

“So? That makes it a good challenge.”

She scoffs. “I don’t hunt for sport, Johanna.”

“But you are a huge showoff,” I grin, poking her arm. She tries to glare again, but her expression softens against her will. Her eyes flit off into the distance, and I patiently wait for her to speak as she nibbles on her inner lip.

“That’s not the only reason,” she admits hesitantly, giving me a wary glance. I nod for her to go on, and she sighs and shoves her hands into her pockets. “They remind me too much of my father.” I do my best to keep my eyes from widening in surprise. It is extremely rare for her to freely mention him around me, much less with any emotion involved, and I don’t wish to discourage it.

“Why mockingjays?” I ask gently.

“He used to sing to them when we went out hunting. His voice was so beautiful, the mockingjays would stop and listen. And then they’d take up his tune.”

“What about you?” I probe. “Did you ever sing to them?”

She shakes her head again. “No, not to the birds. I liked listening to them echo him. He was so much better than me, anyway.”

“Well, what about aft– when it was just you?”

“Nah,” she shrugs. “Waste of time. Besides, I never felt like it.” Despite her feigned nonchalance, I catch the hint of strain in her voice in those last few words.

“That’s just stupid,” I scoff. So much for being gentle, but tough love has always been more my thing. “He’d still want you to sing, wouldn’t he?”

“You didn’t know him,” she snaps. “You barely know me.” With that, she snatches the other axe out of my hand and pulls her arm back to throw.

“Whoa!” I shout, reaching across her body to impede her movement. “Hang on.” I step in front of her and throw her a cheeky smile. “Word from the wise, if you’re gonna throw an axe in anger, it’s much more satisfying if you can make it stick.” The fire in her eyes dampens to a deep smolder as I continue to grin up at her. I’m lucky I’m cute. “Here, let me show you?” I appeal, pointing at the axe. She reluctantly lowers her arm to hand it over, but instead I take her hand in both of mine, making a few small adjustments. “You over-rotated and your blade wasn’t straight,” I inform her, shifting her thumb’s position on the handle. “Let it hang naturally from your hand before winding up. It should straighten itself out.” She nods, and I step back. “Do it!”

Katniss casts me a wary glance, but wiggles her hand a little by her side and then cocks her arm. This time, she pitches the axe straight into the bark, which gives with a muted crunching sound. She blinks at the stuck axe while I let out an enthusiastic whoop and come clap her on the back.

“’Atta girl, Everdeen!” I cheer. “See? Channel your anger. Use it. Don’t let it use you.”

“Like when you shot that squirrel out of the tree our first time out here?” she smirks.

“Exactly.” She raises her eyebrows, and I’m quick to point out, “I didn’t miss, did I?”

I compel her to keep practicing for a while, but aside from the early hiccup, she makes few mistakes. When she starts getting bored, I teach her how to adjust her grip for slight variations in distance, and she quickly picks up on that as well. “That’s good,” I observe. “Changing distance is difficult, like if your target is rushing you or fleeing from you, but with your shooting experience, you might be good at judging that.” I wink. “Maybe we’ll work on that another time.”

“So, you’re going to run away from me and I’ll throw an axe at your back?” She grins cheekily. “Sounds fun, Jo.”

“Anna,” I add pointedly.

The girl’s face promptly falls and she turns to the tree and whips her arm aggressively, lodging the axe deep in the wood with a resounding grunt. Before I have the chance to comment, she wheels around and demands, “Why does Darius get to call you Jo?” 

I exhale forcefully and turn my eyes up in thought. “Honestly, because he’s a little shit and he just kept calling me that, and then one day I realized I didn’t mind.” Katniss arrests her face in a fairly neutral expression, but her gaze drops to the dirt. My mouth quirks affectionately and I give her the permission she’s seeking. “You can call me whatever you want, Everdeen.”

Her head snaps up in surprise. “Anything?”

“Yeah,” I drawl, stepping forward and stroking the back of my hand down her jaw. “Anything.” I doubt she meant it that way, but I can’t help myself. Her mouth slips open a little but her eyes are unsettled as she turns a deep shade of red.

“I’m a little…” A little flustered, if nothing else. “I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?” I purr, trailing a finger behind her ear.

“All of this,” she says, taking a tiny step back. I drop my hand. “Kissing, being touched like this. Having these kinds of feelings.”

“I won’t push you into anything you’re not comfortable with, Everdeen. I’m not in a rush.” In fact, I’d rather take things slow. But, again, I don’t want to explain why, and I’m glad I have her inexperience as a convenient excuse. “You just tell me what you’re ready for.”

Katniss tucks some hair behind her ear and shyly admits, “I want to kiss you again.”

My throat constricts in a tiny gulp that I have to hope she doesn’t notice. My voice is steady when I tell her, “I’m not stopping you.”

The gorgeous brunette bites her lip and hesitates a second before moving back toward me. She raises her hands to cup my cheeks, and I can feel the brush of her thumbs a centimeter from my ears as she leans in to make contact. I helplessly swallow again and gasp in a whiff of air before she steals it from me with her lips. Surprisingly, she doesn’t, at least not with the aggressiveness she exhibited last time. This kiss is soft and sweet, so unlike the side of her I usually see, but it doesn’t make me go any less weak in the knees. In fact, I think they go even weaker. 

I take my time moving my arms to encircle her waist and draw her in closer. Why rush? This moment doesn’t have that frenetic buzz brought on by the possibility of discovery, unlike last time. Our tongues ease into probing each other, but I’m mostly occupied by the feeling of our torsos melding together. Without my armor on, I’m treated to the heat of her body radiating through our shirts that we’ve stripped down to in the past hour.

Finally losing my breath – not to mention my mind – to the sensations a little, I hook my arms over her upper back and grasp her shoulders from behind, pulling myself up and into her lips. She tangles a hand in my hair and kisses me harder, and I unconsciously trail one hand down her back. That’s when she releases this aroused little gasp into my mouth and my brain kicks back in. That’s enough for now. Or else, very quickly, it won’t be enough at all.

I pull back. Katniss slowly opens her eyes about as far as her puffy parted lips. “We have a lesson to finish,” I tell her. She lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue.

When it starts getting dark, I offer to walk her back to the Seam. We don’t hold hands, barely even talk. I pack my weapons away with hers so she can practice in my absence and I don’t have to keep sneaking around with them. We slip under the fence and continue together into the meadow outside the western border of the Seam, but once we near the edge of the settlement, she slows down and eyes me awkwardly. “We should probably split up here,” she says. “I know it’s faster for you to cut through town, but maybe you could give me a little head start.”

“Afraid of being associated with a Peacekeeper?” I sass her, admittedly to cover up my slightly wounded ego. “Anyone who’s around the Hob already knows we’re friends, or at least that we’re friendly and we do business together.”

Katniss fidgets nervously. “My mom doesn’t know I’ve been meeting you on Sundays.”

“So I’m like your secret girlfriend or something?” I tease. She blinks away and I grin to myself, but decide to go easy on her and break the tension. “Who does she think you’re meeting?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s none of her business. But if she knows it’s a Peacekeeper, she might have something more to say about it.”

“What could she do about it, anyway? Tell you not to go out in the forest?” I snort. “Yeah, that would work well.”

Katniss gives her head a frustrated shake and insists, “I just want to avoid any awkward conversations about it, okay?” I can appreciate that. That one on Monday morning with Darius was awkward enough. We haven’t talked about it since, but I can tell it’s on his mind.

“It’s fine, I’m just fucking with you,” I assure her. Her mouth twitches sheepishly.

“I can’t always tell,” she admits. “You’re hard to read.”

“So are you. Sometimes.”

“That’s intentional.” I give her a frustrated snort that she returns just as quickly. “I have my reasons, trust me.”

“Like how that’s a totally hypocritical thing of you to say?” I scoff. “How you don’t trust anyone?”

“No, like how if people knew the kinds of things I think, I would have been strung up in a tree years ago,” she snaps. She quickly peeks over her shoulder, then turns back to me and hisses, “Prim, dead or in the Community Home.” This has the desired effect of shutting me up. Knowing any more would be a conflict of interest. I don’t want to do Cray’s bidding. I glance away uncomfortably, and that’s when I notice Buttercup slinking toward us.

“Speaking of which,” I say, gesturing toward the timely distraction. He hisses at us, making my eyebrows arch in mild amusement. “Wow, he really doesn’t like visitors, does he?” 

“It’s me he doesn’t like.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have good taste after all,” I muse, smoothly shifting my gaze to the beautiful girl beside me.

“If I tried to drown you, you probably wouldn’t like me either,” she blandly mutters.

My jaw falls open and my forehead crinkles as I stare up at her. Sure, he’s fucking ugly and kind of annoying, but what kind of person drowns an animal, much less a pet? I’m sure she wasn’t planning to eat him. Mostly sure, anyway. Who knows what these Seam people get up to when they’re desperate?

Katniss crosses her arms defensively, surely with at least some idea of what thoughts must be swirling around in my brain. “He was a sick kitten when Prim brought him home,” she explains sharply. “The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. Even a small one.” Fair enough, I guess.

I nod down at the growling feline. “He’s even bigger now.”

“I’m a better shot now,” she smirks. “Besides, Prim is really attached to him.”

“Anything to keep her happy, huh?”

“More like ‘anything to keep her alive,’ but yeah.” Katniss seems to lose her guard for a moment, a small affectionate smile sneaking onto her face. “My sister means the world to me.” It’s the glimpses of this Katniss that I find truly fascinating. The loving sister, the mourning daughter of a long-lost miner. The vulnerable side of the belligerent huntress. Buttercup comes up and rubs against my shins while I’m busy staring at his nemesis.

“Hey, buddy.” I crouch down in an attempt to pet him, but he makes it difficult by continuing to circle me, pushing against me with the side of his neck. Leaving his scent on me, trying to claim me. He can get in line.

“He doesn’t even like you, he’s just doing that to spite me,” huffs Katniss.

“So everyone’s motives revolve around you, huh?” Katniss doesn’t react, so I smirk to make sure she knows I’m joking. Well, half-joking. Even then, she just sneers half-heartedly before biting her lip and toeing the ground. I push myself to my feet, much to Buttercup’s chagrin, and move closer to her. Closer than I would to most people. Katniss looks up, wary of my proximity, but doesn’t pull away this time. “Maybe I’ll come to the Hob on Tuesday?” I suggest. “So we can conduct some business?”

Katniss narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Is that a euphemism for something?” I let out a genuine and surprised laugh. What a kid.

“Well, it can be,” I purr, leaning in just a touch closer and tipping my head so my mouth is only inches from her ear.

Katniss smirks and briefly drops her eyes to my lips, but then she glances into the neighborhood and pushes me away with a playful shove. “Shut up.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I clarify after a brief chuckle. “I meant buying something off you is a good excuse to see you, without seeming suspicious.”

Katniss has a better suggestion. “Or you could just arrest me again.”

I can’t help grinning, but put effort into at least making it look sly by squinting and stroking my chin mischievously.

“Tempting.”

***

“Come on.” I drag a finger around Darius’s pebbled nipple.

“You’re insatiable these days,” he groans, quite accurately. I’ve definitely had more sexual energy since Katniss slept over. At least I have someone to burn it off with. Maybe that’s horrible of me, but I’d feel even worse if I was directing that energy her way.

“I never thought I’d hear you complaining.”

“I’m not. I’m impressed.” He looks down at where I’m straddling him just above the hips. “But I think I’m out of juice for a bit.”

I wrinkle my nose and mutter, “Gross.”

“Ew, that’s not what I meant.”

“Mm, okay,” I hum, casually grinding my hips down onto his stomach.

He groans in obvious frustration. “But when you put it that way, it’s still true.”

“Well, you don’t need your juices for everything, do you?” I say teasingly, getting a grip on one of his hands and dragging it slowly up my thigh.

“No, not those ones,” he admits with a smirk, putting his thumb right where I need it.

“Fuck.” My breathing picks up and I start impatiently rocking against his hand. “Faster,” I whisper. He tries, but his stamina leaves something to be desired at the moment. His fatigue is no one’s fault but mine, and admittedly it is no accident. I don’t want him tagging along when I go to the Hob to meet Katniss. I’d rather keep these two apart, at least in my presence. Especially because she hardly interacted with me the last time all three of us were at the Hob.

“Forget it, I’ll do it.” I knock his hand away and take over, and he watches wide-eyed from his prime view. 

“You’re not saving any of yours for our workout, are you?”

I cock my head. “I’ll have you know, I have ample juices.”

“I noticed,” he smirks, eyes on the puddle surely forming on his stomach. “But still.”

“I can still lift after this, as long as I get some food in me first,” I assure him. “Some people don’t take forever to recover.”

“Hey,” he protests weakly.

I don’t even try to suppress my saucy grin. “It’s not your fault you can’t keep up,” I patronize him. “I’m a beast. I was trained to be.” With that, I reach behind me and find what I’m looking for. Sort of. “Oh, there you are,” I smirk, coaxing him back to life.

Darius groans and lets his head fall back on my pillow. He enjoys this for a few moments before he chuckles and abruptly sits up, pulling both my hands away from their respective jobs. My breath catches even before he cradles my ass and slides his legs out from under it. He lowers me to the mattress and grins down at me from his hands and knees. I growl and tighten my legs around his waist, lifting my hips off the bed. He cocks a teasing eyebrow and traces a thumb under the curve of my breast.

“In a hurry?”

“Fuck you, Darius,” I grunt, my hips involuntarily jerking upward. I don’t tell him he’s right. Katniss is probably at the Hob already.

“Cheeky, cheeky,” he playfully scolds me. I want to slap him, and to be fair he might like that, but I know better ways of getting what I want.

“Stalling because you’re not hard enough?” I posit accusingly. “Still?” Those dark eyes squint into indignant slits, as expected. I can always count on questioning his skills in the sack if I want to rile Darius up. I wonder what woman left him because he wasn’t a good enough fuck. Maybe some other girl who prefers girls. Wouldn’t that be terribly fitting?

“Isn’t that just insulting yourself?” he scoffs.

“Hey, I did what I could with what I was given,” I shrug. I’m really asking for it. Which conveniently covers the fact that I’m actually begging for it.

“Then I’ll give you more,” he growls. I bite my lips to hold in a smile. I knew he’d rise to the challenge. My teeth dig into the skin and thankfully hold in a lot more than a smile when he slides inside me. “That better?”

“Mm hm,” I grunt painfully. He starts moving his hips, and I respond in kind, very enthusiastically. Taking his cues from me, he doesn’t waste time taking it easy. Neither of us needs a warm-up. “Yes,” I breathe, winding my fingers in his auburn curls. The tension in my gut builds quickly, as do my quiet whimpers, and I clamp my teeth around the boy’s shoulder. It’s not just because I need an outlet for my passion, nor is it solely because I don’t want anyone outside the room to hear whatever might come out of my mouth. I’m truly afraid I might say the wrong name.

***

My boots kick up dust as I rush through the maze of sooty buildings under the haze of twilight, drips from my still-wet hair rolling down my back. The quick shower after Darius dozed off did little to cleanse me of the guilt roiling in my stomach, but at least it cleaned the boy off me physically before I could encounter the girl. I yank open the Hob’s main door and skid to a stop on the dusty floorboards, eagerly scanning the warehouse for Katniss. I catch a glimpse of her talking to some brewer at the far end of the room and start toward her, resting my hands on my hips and panting a bit.

She notices me when I’m about halfway there, a relieved smile creeping onto her face. She barely excuses herself before making her way over, an air of amusement crossing her expression as she takes in my breathlessness.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” she muses pointedly. “Sold out already.” 

I raise an eyebrow and glance around the market again. “So Gale’s gone?”

“Yep,” she smiles knowingly. “It’s just us.” I barely have time to return the smile before she adds, “Unfortunately, you no longer have a good excuse to be talking to me.”

“Still came to buy from you, and it struck up a conversation,” I reason. “It works.”

“Fair enough,” she nods. Then she puts on an impersonal tone and declares, “I’m very sad to inform you that I’m all out of game for the day, Agent.”

“What a shame,” I play along. My stomach loudly growls its displeasure and I laugh sheepishly while Katniss snickers. “For real,” I admit. “I haven’t eaten.” I reach into my hip pockets to dig out some money.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before showing up late,” she teases.

I shrug. “I got held up.” My face crumples with a frown as I push my hands deeper and find my pockets are empty. I quickly check my jacket, but I already know there’s nothing there. I really was in a rush. “Uh, whoops,” I mutter.

“Forgot your money again?”

“Hey, that’s only happened, like, once before,” I lobby in my defense. “And I was really depressed that day.”

Katniss snorts. “That’s not the word I’d use for it.”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?” I sigh.

The poacher takes half a step closer and asks me quietly, “What, do you really want to forget?” Do I want to forget meeting her? No, never.

I shake my head shyly and bounce my eyes away. They land on Greasy Sae’s stall nearer to the door. “Hey, can you spot me for a bowl of soup?” I ask, nodding toward the older woman. “I’m famished.” I barely catch myself before I say I’m starving. Somehow, I don’t think Katniss would appreciate the hyperbole. She smirks, surely enjoying this momentary role-reversal. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

Katniss gives me a quick scan from the waist up. “You’d better,” she says, her voice low and raspy enough to make my loins spasm on the spot. She waits long enough to see me gulp and throw me a smug smile, and then and only then approaches Greasy Sae. She returns a couple minutes later with a bowl.

“Thanks,” I mumble, glancing down into the slop.

Katniss scratches the back of her head. “I can’t stay long,” she sighs apologetically. “My mom will have dinner ready soon.”

“That’s okay,” I shrug. Spending any time alone with her on an unusual day is a treat. There’s nothing more I could ask for, except maybe a kiss goodnight under the burgeoning stars. But when I catch her narrowed eyes, the irritation in them tells me she misunderstood what I meant, so I try again. “I said I wanted to see you, didn’t I?” I remind her calmly. She stares blankly. I smile and nudge her arm. “Well, I’ve seen you.” Her stony expression suddenly cracks with a wide smile, much to her embarrassment, as evidenced by the way she bites her lip and drops her eyes to the floorboards she’s toeing.

“I wish it was longer,” she mumbles when she finally looks up. I snort, barely resisting the impulse to tell her I’ve said that one before. “What?” she snaps. I throw her a sultry look, and after holding my gaze for a moment, her eyes suddenly pop open. “Oh.” She turns the cutest shade of red and I really wish we weren’t in public so I could pull her in by the collar and kiss her right this instant. I don’t think she’d turn me down even though I’m still laughing at her.

Despite her self-declared need to get going, Katniss lingers quite awhile, sitting on the crates by Sae’s booth with me and chatting. She’s never struck me as the type for small talk, but I think we could be talking about the weather and her eyes would still be bright, her lips still turned up. I can only assume, because that’s true for me. I could stay with her all day and night and not get tired of her. I’m just wishing that I could physically get away with that when I notice her face change. I know that look. I’ve seen it in so many faces during my study of and training for the Games. She’s identified an enemy. I turn my head so I can see the door and notice a group of guys in white. Including a redhead.

I immediately get up and start striding toward Darius, my anger probably showing in my posture. I’m not sure I’m being reasonable, but I can’t help but think he clued in and is here to break up our date. That’s probably an unfair assumption, but it doesn’t matter. I’m angry with him for being here no matter what the reason. He hardly assuages my suspicions when he catches sight of me and doesn’t look surprised to see me, but to be fair, where else would I be on a cold night? Even if he thought I would be here, maybe he just wanted to catch up. We did sort of have plans. 

“Can I talk to you?” I ask, tugging on his sleeve. My voice is more tired than angry by now. He follows me to the corner and I demand, “What are you doing here?”

“You disappeared on me and I got invited out,” he answers coolly. “What are _you_ doing here? Thought I’d find you in the gym.”

“Came for some game, but forgot money,” I explain. Darius’s eyes linger on the dregs of soup in my bowl, so I add, “I got treated.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles, now focused on something behind me. I peek over my shoulder and spy Katniss approaching us. “Am I interrupting something?”

I shrug and raise the bowl pointedly. “Only my meal.”

“Hey, Darius,” I hear in a voice that sounds like Katniss’s but is far too chipper to be hers. “How’ve you been?” She snakes an arm over my shoulders as she steps up beside me. I screw my eyes shut and groan under my breath. I don’t know whether to be pissed off or turned on by the possessive gesture. Not that the two are mutually exclusive for me. I ease my eyes open to the view of Darius observing us warily.

“Okay,” he answers haltingly. “You?”

“Great,” she chirps, eyeing me up for a moment before doing the same to Darius and gesturing at his off-duty uniform. “Strange seeing you back in white,” she muses nonchalantly. “You looked better in purple.”

“You looked better in a towel,” is his instant but flat retort.

“Darius!” I bark. His eyes flit over to me and I mouth the word, “Dude.”

Katniss blushes the slightest bit, but otherwise betrays no emotion. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting that,” she acknowledges. “Sorry if I rattled you, just showing up on your territory like that.” She strokes one of her long fingers over my shoulder. “Jo invited me in.”

Darius arches an eyebrow and sneaks another glance at me. “I was concerned that there would be trouble, that’s all,” he replies. “Jo has a tendency to get caught when she breaks the rules.” I level a death glare at him and hope he catches the sentiment I can’t speak aloud: Don’t you fucking dare.

“I would never get this girl in trouble,” Katniss rebuts, playfully jostling me and squeezing me closer to her side. “Wouldn’t want to risk getting her sent away. Sundays would be boring without her.”

“Every day would be,” he agrees pointedly. “So I hope you mean that. You might want to be more careful in the future.”

“It wasn’t her fault, Darius,” I interject, mostly to remind both of them that I am a person, present in this conversation, and not just some post they’re spraying with their urine. “You said so yourself.”

“No, he’s right,” Katniss concedes. “I knowingly took a risk. But that’s my whole life, isn’t it?” She lets that hang there for a moment, and when it’s met with silence, she concludes, “I’d better get going.” She nods at the redhead. “Nice seeing you, Darius.” She trails her hand across my shoulders and down to my wrist as she pulls away. “See you later, Jo,” is the last thing she says before she turns and saunters toward the door.

I tuck my tongue under my lower lip and bite it, scoffing under my breath as I watch her walk away. I want to strangle or kiss the daylights out of her. Maybe both at once. Darius recaptures a fraction of my attention when he demands, “What the hell was that?”

“Fucking adorable,” I muse, wearing an affectionate smile despite myself.

He watches the door close behind the girl and slowly turns back my way. “You told her,” he states in a quiet but accusing tone.

“No, you did,” I fire back. “She was in the room that morning after you saw us in the barracks.” Darius blinks in surprise. “She slept over,” I explain. “I didn’t want you to know, so I told her to hide.” I snort bitterly at the memory. “It turned out even more awkward than it would have had you known she was there.”

A wry chuckle falls from the boy’s lips. “You’re always hiding something, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

He nods at the door Katniss just exited. “Was it the wrong impression?”

“She was sleeping when the rain stopped,” I parry. “I didn’t want to kick her out in the middle of the night.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

I roll my eyes and insist, “Yes, it was a platonic sleepover.”

“There’s nothing platonic about you two,” Darius pronounces. I can’t help but blink away. A moment passes, and then he quietly adds, “You’ve never let me sleep over.” I sigh and catch his eye.

“It was a special circumstance,” I say weakly.

“Was it?” The sadness in his tone is palpable, almost as evident as that in his deep brown eyes. They always make him look like a sad puppy, but there’s an extra sheen in them now. This should only foster my guilt, and it does, but I can’t help but react defensively again.

I plant my hands on my hips and scowl. “So much for no drama.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he sneers. He turns on his heel and marches back to his friends, leaving me standing there glaring at his back.

I almost walk out the door, but then remember the bowl and spoon I’m holding. I weave through the sparse crowd back to Greasy Sae’s, where the old woman greets me with an odd expression. I can’t determine if it’s sympathy or amusement. My cheeks burn scarlet.

“What are you looking at?” I demand. I plunk the bowl down on the wooden counter, producing a satisfying echo.

“Nothing,” she replies too innocently. She adds the bowl to a pile of dirty dishes and goes back to wiping down the counter. I glower at the top of her head but decide it’s not worth getting into. I’d just end up embarrassing myself even more. Instead, I zip up my jacket, pull my hood up, and head out into the cold. Alone.

***

Wednesday is painful. I spend most of the morning shut away in my room, torn between my desire to avoid Darius and my need to resolve the tension between us. I can feel it through the wall. I’m usually the type to bury my discomfort and pretend things don’t bother me, but Darius is essentially my best friend. He’s been everything I could have asked for since I got here, and this is not a friendship I’m willing to see end because of my pride or how much I hate having to face the consequences of my actions. No, if he doesn’t come to me, I’ll go to him. Eventually.

After forcing down some lunch, I decide to go for a workout to burn off some of my jitters before approaching him. I cut through A wing and pop out of the barracks about thirty yards from the grungy little building at the south end of the compound. What with Twelve’s well-deserved reputation of a lazy Peacekeeping force, it’s usually deserted. I never even knew it was anything other than a storage shack until Darius offhandedly mentioned his legs were sore from heavy squats one day a few weeks into my stay. I yelled at him for never mentioning the gym before and demanded he take me as soon as we were off-shift. Unlike most civilians in the districts, I had actually been to such a facility before I joined the Peacekeepers. The candidacy program’s headquarters houses a variety of fitness equipment along with its arsenal of weapons.

I swipe my card at the door and hang my coat up in the tiny lobby. I push into the workout room itself and find a couple of guys from the afternoon shift occupying our only bench press rack. Of course. I roll my eyes and start for the empty floor space across the room, but stop in my tracks when my eyes detect another Peacekeeper stepping away from the water fountain in the near corner. A redhead. I scowl at his mere presence for the second time in 24 hours and silently continue to my destination. Now I can’t even attempt to have a relaxing workout.

I get down on the floor and start out with some push-ups from my knees. I’ve done maybe five by the time I hear the guys snickering. My face flushes. Don’t these assholes know how to do a warm up? Probably not. I do a second set of ten to finish a quick one, then throw a pointed look toward the benches before pounding out some real push-ups. A few reps in, I start propelling myself off the ground and clapping my hands before catching myself and repeating the motion. I smile with satisfaction when I hear one of the assholes curse under his breath. I’m just finishing my third set when I hear, “Cocky little bitch.” Oh, they have no idea.

My arms are already burning, but I march to the nearest wall and place my fingertips a few inches from it before flipping up into a handstand. My tank top slips down a bit as I ease my heels back against the wall for balance, and I catch all three guys staring at my exposed skin. I slowly lower the top of my head to the ground, shoot them a wink, and then straighten my arms under my full bodyweight.

“Are you fucking serious?” one guy says. The other is too busy gaping at my defined abs. Darius just laughs. I can only do this a few times, but when I flip back down to my feet, I dust my hands off and take a casual swig from my water bottle. I glance over at my friend, who’s still smirking from his spot at the cable machine. I grin and go lift some heavy dumbbells for good measure.

The meatheads leave shortly thereafter, and I immediately take over the bench press. Darius wanders over while I’m changing the weight plates. “I think you scared them off, Agent Beastie.”

I point at the clock on the wall. “They have to report soon anyway.”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “But that’s not nearly as funny.” Darius changes over the plates on the other side, and I nod gratefully and lie down on the bench. “Need a spot?” I wriggle into position and squint up at the boy now standing behind the bar and peeking over it.

“Is that an excuse to drop something heavy on my face?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever got on your face,” he deadpans.

I shake my head while trying to fight off my grin. “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it.” I can’t argue with that, so I clear my throat and grip the bar. Darius shadows my movement throughout the short set but doesn’t touch the bar, as he knows I prefer. He waits until I’ve racked it before saying, “That’s what I don’t get about Katniss.” My gut spasms painfully. “She’s so innocent. I wouldn’t think she’d be your type.”

I don’t really know what to say, so I just stand up and nod down at the bench. “You want a turn?” I suggest.

“I think I’ve had my turn,” he asserts.

My stomach drops and a sudden chill settles over me. I try unsuccessfully to swallow the ache in my throat and ask with as much attitude as I can muster, “Really?”

Darius sighs and leans on the rack, averting his eyes to the bench. “I’m not doing this anymore, Johanna,” he announces after a long moment. “I like you too much. I always liked you too much for this type of arrangement, but I told myself that I didn’t, that it would be fine.” He finally meets my eyes again. “It’s not fine. I could fake just wanting to fuck you, but I can’t share you with someone else. Especially when she’s clearly the one who has you smitten.” He shrugs too casually. “I never stood a chance.” His admitted duplicity is bad enough, but this hint of a victim complex really irks me.

“‘Never stood a chance’?” I mock him. “What, you’re not even gonna put up a fight for what you want?” I scoff. “You’re an even bigger wuss than I thought.”

“Why do you even care? You like Katniss more, it’s obvious.” I simmer silently at that. One more thing I can’t deny. “Don’t be difficult about this. If you want to break things off with me, just do it. I’d think I’m doing you a favor.”

“So you assume I want this over,” I huff.

“Not yet.” I catch his eye at that, and find his gaze every bit as meaningful as his tone. “You want to keep me around, for now.” His mouth quirks with the emotion he’s trying to suppress. It affects his voice instead. “For a couple more months, right? Until she’s old enough for you to have your way with her without feeling guilty.”

A sudden head rush threatens to bowl me over, and I finding myself clinging to the weight rack in an effort to stay upright.

“Fuck you,” I spit. My hand trembles in its vice grip on the metal. “Is that really what you think of me? That I’m some kind of whore who strings people along for sex and preys on minors?”

“No,” he states firmly. “If you really preyed on minors, you wouldn’t feel guilty about what happened with Clove. Or about having feelings for Katniss.”

“I should never have told you about Clove,” I whisper to the floor. “I never thought you’d throw it in my face like this.”

Darius’s face softens marginally. “Johanna, I didn’t mean it like that,” he assures me. He reaches out to touch my shoulder and I pointedly lean back. He sighs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean taking advantage of her. I meant, like, ‘consumating your undying love for her,’” he drawls with air quotes. I narrow my eyes dangerously, and he doesn’t even blink.

“You know, I didn’t force you into this,” I remind him. “You offered. You have no right to be mad at me for having feelings for someone else while also sleeping with you. Hell, you outright said I could use you to get over Clove.”

“That’s different,” he snaps. “That could go somewhere, or at least last. It’s not like this, where it has an expiration date.”

“Maybe I wasn’t planning on breaking it off with you then,” I retort. “Maybe I actually really like what we have together, did you ever think of that?”

“Then that’s not fair to either of us,” he states unequivocally. “It’s fucked up enough already, what with you fucking the life out of me and then running off to see your little girlfriend. Imagine if you were fucking both of us.” His eyes flicker and he quickly adds, “Actually, don’t.”

I wouldn’t, though. At least, not for long. As much fun as the idea sounds from a distance, I know that once I am really with Katniss, I won’t want to be with anyone else. Once we’re serious, she’ll fulfill my emotional needs, and I can fulfill my sexual ones on my own. But I’m not really with her, not seriously or officially. And that’s probably my own fault. I’ve been fucking her around. Both of them. I had my reasons, of course. Katniss was the dangerous choice. She still is. But I know now that that’s the choice I’m ultimately going to make, as ill-advised as it may be. Not that I’m sure I ever even had a choice in the matter.

I take a long look at Darius’s face, the hurt in his eyes, the anger in his brow. He’s right. It’s time this was over. That doesn’t mean I want it to be.

“Katniss isn’t my girlfriend,” I sigh. “Not exactly.”

“Well, she made it very clear that she thinks you’re hers.” He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to the ground. “I knew I shouldn’t have believed you when said there was nothing going on between you two.”

“There wasn’t,” I protest feebly. “Things have changed.”

“And you weren’t gonna tell me. Just like you wouldn’t have told her about us.” He snorts. “Whatever we are.”

I tilt my head and catch his eye ardently, silently pleading with him to take my next words seriously. “I legitimately like you, Darius,” I insist. “Always have. And if it weren’t for…” I trail off and bite my lip. “Maybe it could be different.”

“I doubt it,” he snaps. When I glare at him, he turns a hand up and prods, “Have you ever been in love with a guy?” Well, no. I don’t think so. But I don’t know that I couldn’t be, and if I don’t know, neither can he. Still, he infers, “Maybe that’s just not something you want from males.”

“Tell yourself whatever you need to,” I scoff. I refrain from rubbing his face in his own insecurities as a lover. I’ve hurt him enough already. “Besides, who said anything about love? That wasn’t part of our arrangement.” I squint curiously, taking another good look at the guy. “Wait, you’re not in love with me, are you?”

“No. But I could have been.” We both let that sit there a moment, neither of us daring to delve further into it. Finally, he exhales heavily and massages some tension from his brow under the guise of wiping away sweat. He braves another look at my face and concludes, “This has been fun while it lasted, but I think we should just be friends.”

The knot in my stomach grows, even though I know he’s right. But I can’t bring myself to say that. I don’t know what to say. I think I must channel my inner Katniss, because what escapes my mouth is a weak, “I thought we were.”

Darius’s mouth twists into a wry smirk. “You’re right. We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for all her help with this chapter. And to you, the readers, for your patience and reviews and continued support. This is my fun pet project on the side, and I'm glad it too has a following.


	8. Revelations

Most of my free time over the next several days is spent moping around and thinking. A little bit of drinking, but mostly thinking. There’s a lot of lying flat on my bed and staring at the ceiling involved. Kind of like bad sex. I don’t go to the Hob on Thursday like I usually would, mostly because Darius is going and I don’t want to make things awkward. Partly because I’m still angry with Katniss. I assume my absence is noted, but nobody mentions it or my withdrawn behavior until I stagger into the empty kitchen on Sunday after a sorely needed sleep-in.

I’ve just punched a sizeable brunch into Martha and am leaning forward against the counter, hands braced on the lip and eyes screwed shut when I hear a sharp female voice from the door. “Mason. You’re alive.”

I probably would have jumped in shock were I more alert, but instead I groan under my breath. I slowly turn around and meet the piercing green eyes of my commanding officer. My first words of the day are gravelly as hell. “Alive and well, Captain Stark.”

“Alive, anyway,” she muses, doing a poor job of holding back a smile. I give her a sour look, hardly in the mood to be the source of someone’s amusement. Her lips flatten out a little. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not today,” I mumble.

“I should hope not,” snorts Purnia. “It’s 10 AM.” I just rub the sleep from my eyes in response. The older woman tilts her head, sizing me up for a moment. “What’s going on with you?” she asks. When I only shrug, she guesses, “You and Darius break up?” My stomach lurches.

“You knew about that?”

She smirks, “You were a lot subtler than most Peacekeeper romances, I’ll give you that. But I can read Darius like a book. There’s a certain way he looks at a woman when he’s doing her.” I furrow my brow and glower up at her. She should know it’s way too soon to be mentioning Darius fucking other girls. I’ve thought about my feelings for him a lot over the past few days, and though I know I’m not truly in love with him, that doesn’t mean I’m not attached or possessive at all.

“Oh, yeah?” I snark. “How would you know?” The second this question leaves my lips, I realize I don’t want to know the answer. Purnia and I, we have a lot in common. My eyes are brown and I’m a couple inches shorter, but we both have shoulder-length black hair and a relatively small frame. Personality-wise, she’s kind of an older and more confident version of me, just more reserved. I can see Darius being attracted to her. Hell, if I’m being honest, sometimes I enjoy being bossed around by her a little too much.

“Please,” she scoffs, waving me off. “I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Really?” Now I’m genuinely curious. “You’ve seriously never had a ‘Peacekeeper romance’? Not once, in six years?” Martha beeps loudly, distracting me for a moment. I pull my plate out and immediately scoop a forkful of hash browns into my mouth. I point my fork at Purnia and say through the wad of potato, “You don’t seem the type to get involved with a local.”

“I’m not,” she concurs. “I keep my hands to myself.”

I swallow my food and chuckle. “I’m sure you do.”

“Pervert,” she mutters. I pluck a sausage off my plate and take a bite, waggling my eyebrows. Purnia rolls her eyes. “Way to prove my point, Mason.”

I blink innocently and ask, “What?” around my mouthful of meat. I can see that smile peeking out again. I extend my plate to her. “You want one?”

“Nah,” she smirks. “I think you need your sausage more than me.” I have to literally bite my tongue to keep myself from arguing that her uptight ass could use a good fuck. However improved our relationship may be from when I started, that isn’t one she’d let me get away with. Not by a long shot.

I’ve been eating in silence for several moments before she speaks again, her serious tone back on. “Are you going to be okay?” I sigh and consider this while I chew. Really, I will be. I already am, I’ve just been choosing to mourn my loss rather than move on or make any good come of it.

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Sometimes you just need to be sad about something for a while to process it, you know?”

“Mm hm,” she nods. She hesitates a second, then ventures, “Mind if I ask what happened?”

“Just… stupid shit.” She continues to look on expectantly, so I elaborate, “Darius said it would be casual and non-dramatic and such, but then it wasn’t. He wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” she ponders aloud. “I could see him getting more and more attached to you. And I don’t know you as well, but it didn’t look like you felt the same way.” That’s true on some level, so I nod. And that’s when she says, “Your attention was elsewhere.”

My muscles go lax and I almost drop my plate, my eyes fixated on the perceptive officer. I curl my fingers around the porcelain dish and snap my jaw shut, then take a slow breath to steady myself. I cock my head and coolly inquire, “What are you saying, Purnia?”

“I’m saying it was obvious what you wanted, whether you knew it or not. And that it wasn’t him.” I keep my face completely blank, refusing to give anything away, but her expression tells me it’s far too late for that. I can’t help but blink away guiltily. “I’d tell you not to do anything stupid, but I’m sure you already have.” Purnia steps up and cups her hand under my jaw, tilting my chin up to force me into eye contact. I begrudgingly comply. “I like you, Johanna,” she states in a quiet but sincere tone. “Be careful.”

I really want this awkward moment to end, so I nod wordlessly. I’m not sure I could speak if I tried, anyway. She leaves me alone after that, but her words linger in my mind well into the afternoon. She wasn’t entirely right. As much as I buried it, I always knew what I wanted. Not in my mind, but in my gut. And now, thanks to Katniss’s rather immature antics, I can finally have it. Despite Purnia’s warning, I know she’s not going to rat me out unless I give her reason to, and Cray encouraged it, even if his motives were very different from mine. So I’m going to tell Katniss what I want, and hope she wants the same thing. After I give her a piece of my mind.

With that in mind, my lethargy turns to jitters over the course of the afternoon. Not wanting to seem overeager, I wait until just after four to exit the district. I’m only halfway there when I first catch the strains of music in the birdcalls emanating from deeper in the forest. Intrigued, I speed up. The chirping only grows louder as I get closer, and I start to pick up the repetitive tune. I was hoping Katniss took my words to heart and started this chorus, but despite straining to pick out a human voice, I can’t identify one.

And then, I hear her. Even if I weren’t out here, I’d know it’s her right away because her singing voice has the same rich, deep timbre as her speaking voice. I can’t quite make out all the words yet, only something about a tree, I think. But instead of hurrying up so I can hear her better, I decide to creep closer. I prefer a candid performance. At the third stanza, her volume swells and I finally catch the whole verse.

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree? Where I told you to run, so we’d both be free.” I freeze in my tracks as she carries on, “Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree.” The next verse is exactly the same, except for the second line, “Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.” Well, that’s just a tad morbid. And perhaps a bit prophetic. I swallow involuntarily.

I sneak closer through some trees off the lousy excuse for a path and eventually catch sight of Katniss as she continues to sing. She’s situated on a branch about six feet off the ground, legs dangling just above the spot where I arrested her for the first time. When she repeats the earlier verses, I deduce they are the last two of a four-verse song. She stops after the third time through the entire thing, eyes out toward the barracks. If she sees me, she’s pretending not to. I let the birds echo one stanza unaccompanied before chiming in, an octave higher than the other girl.

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree?” I sing, stepping out from the cover of the forest. Katniss spots me immediately and I gaze at her with purpose. “Where I told you to run, so we’d both be free.” I amble over as I finish the verse. “Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree.”

It’s all but silent in the forest when my solo ends. A moment later, the mockingjays start up again, this time chirping at a higher pitch. I shoot a smug look at Katniss, who half-heartedly rolls her eyes in a pathetic attempt to look unimpressed. But I don’t need her compliments. I’m well aware that I slay just as well with my voice as with my hands.

“Trying to summon me with some kind of magic?” I tease her, strolling up to the base of the tree.

“I’ve been singing on and off for a while,” she smirks. “I’d say it worked.”

I stop under the branch and extend my arms up to her, silently offering my hands to break her fall. She looks down at me doubtfully, but shuffles off the limb. I catch her by the hips and set her down right in front of me. I don’t reposition my hands. “I’m strong for my size, remember?”

“How could I forget?” she muses, her fingers trailing up my forearms before curling around them into a steady grip. She lifts her head and admits, “Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I ask, a touch too perkily.

“Because we never confirmed today was a go, and because I didn’t see you Thursday,” she reasons, apparently oblivious to my sarcasm. Typical. “I thought maybe… I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

I hook my thumbs through the little space left in her belt loops, but also inch backward so our height difference is less pronounced. I cock my head and lay it on sickeningly sweet this time. “Why would I be mad at you, Katniss?” I spot dread in her flickering eyes as she shifts her weight to her heels.

“I don’t know… for causing trouble between you and Darius, maybe?” she speculates.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I snark. I pause a beat to let that sink in. “Congratulations, Everdeen. There is no me and Darius. That’s over, thanks to you.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” she remarks flatly.

“No shit.” I release her pants and take a step back. “It was not your place to do that,” I scold her. “And it hurt his feelings to find out that way.” The taller girl rolls her eyes with an exaggerated scoff. Cheeky little bitch. I plant my fists on my hipbones with a heavy glare. “Just because you don’t have feelings doesn’t mean I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s, you know.”

“I have feelings!” she protests.

“Yeah, jealousy and anger,” I scoff. “Anything else?”

I think I see legitimate hurt in her expression as she crosses her arms. “I think you know me better than that by now,” she retorts. “And as for Darius, he deserved to know. And it’s not like you were gonna tell him.”

I shoot her a dangerous look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s why you didn’t mind if I needed to take things slow, right?” she presumes. Her accusing tone fades to downcast as she adds, “Because you had someone else to fool around with in the meantime.”

My first instinct is to react similarly to when Darius suggested the same thing, but something in me just can’t handle seeing Katniss in any kind of pain. Especially pain caused by me. So instead of blowing up, I sidestep the somewhat true accusation on a technicality.

“No, not exactly,” I say. She tilts her head, silently pressing for an explanation, and I shake mine. “It’s complicated, and I don’t want to go into it.” 

The younger girl snorts. “It’s ‘classified,’ huh?”

“No, it just involves Clove,” I snap. “I don’t want to talk about her, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear about her, either.” Katniss blinks away and I sigh and scratch behind my ear. “I need to take things slow for my own reasons, okay? It’s not just about you.”

Katniss’s eyes heat up a little at this familiar refrain, her lips morphing into a sharp scowl. “So then how did you end up fucking Darius?” she retorts. “That moved pretty damn fast.”

“We have a totally different relationship.” I know she’ll only get more defensive if I bring up her age, but I give her the other reasons. “We’re both Peacekeepers. We see each other all the time, so I’m really comfortable with him. And he… he’s experienced.” Katniss frowns and I quickly clarify, “I mean that sleeping with someone who’s been around is less responsibility. You don’t want to rush into taking someone’s virginity.”

“So I was right,” she snorts. “You were using him as a stopgap.”

I cross my arms and pointedly remind her, “I was involved with him long before anything happened between us, you know. That’s not fair.”

“How long?” she inquires. I tilt my head coyly. “What, you went from never having kissed him to sleeping with him in how long?” she presses. “A few days? A few weeks?”

“A few hours,” I admit. I know this revelation will only bring trouble, but I don’t want to hold on to that secret and, honestly, I just love shock value. Her expression turns vaguely horrified, as expected. I manage to hold in a smirk.

“Wow,” she mutters. “That’s… quick.”

“But not uncommon," I counter. "Sometimes when people figure out what they want, things escalate quickly.” I think Darius’s words are the best explanation until Katniss’s face crumples.

“So that’s when you figured out what you wanted, huh?” she concludes, her voice nearly breaking. She nods once. “Me too.”

“No, no,” I backpedal. “I meant what I wanted in the moment. Not what…” I sigh and drag my fingers through my hair. “I was lonely, Katniss. Okay?” Her expression softens a bit at this admission, or perhaps the trace of desperation in my tone. “I’ve been so lonely since I got here. I left my family, and my lover left me. Darius was there for me from the beginning, and that helped. He became a good friend, and eventually he offered.”

Katniss snorts, “I’m sure he did.” I feel a swell of defensive anger in my chest. It was bad enough when it seemed she might be judging my sexual exploits, but she has no place judging Darius’s actions.

“Say what you want about him,” I scowl. “And me.” Before either of us has a chance to escalate this any further, I jerk my head into the woods and bark, “Do you wanna shoot shit or not?”

We don’t end up shooting at all, actually. Katniss is itching for some more instruction with the axes, and though I enjoy shooting I do love being the expert at whatever we do together. And Everdeen is much more tolerable when she’s learning at my feet rather than lording her skills over me. Gives her a much-needed shot of humility. I guess I’m not one to talk.

Without moving targets at our disposal, I come up with the idea of Katniss throwing the axes while running toward her target to practice making the blade stick while changing distance. This adds the extra complication of throwing while on the move, but even with that, she does remarkably well. So much for humility. It’s also really sexy, admittedly, seeing her chuck the things like a seasoned warrior. I have to scoop my jaw off the ground and make a note to change my underwear later when she throws one mid-air with a loud cry. My eyes follow the axe until it lodges in a tree, then I clear my throat, hoping it also clears the arousal from my voice.

“Have you seriously never done this before?” I ask incredulously. “You’re picking it up way faster than anyone I’ve ever taught before.” She’s clearly been practicing what I already taught her, but her ability to match the correct spin and distance is uncanny.

“Not with axes,” she answers with a teasing evasiveness. I raise my eyebrows. “I throw knives from time to time. Not like the sleek kind you see in the Games, just regular hunting ones.” My surprise must show, because she adds, “Sometimes, if I’ve wounded an animal with an arrow, it’s better to get a knife into it, too. Before I approach it.”

“You can’t just shoot it a second time?”

Everdeen shrugs, but can’t hide the glint in her eye. “Knives are more fun.” My eyes grow. I have underestimated her. Perhaps when she inevitably realizes who the female DV is this year and susses out that I trained for the Games, she won’t be as bothered as I thought. That is probably wishful thinking, though. Animals are not people, and hunting them is not for the sake of amusing the Capitol. Like she said, she doesn’t hunt for sport.

“So you’re already used to adjusting spin for moving targets,” I surmise. “Well, that gives you a leg up on your average beginner. You might even stand a chance in the arena.”

Katniss’s face goes blank. I panic internally and am about to apologize for my insensitivity when she simply says, “I hope so.” Then she heads for the tree to retrieve the axe.

I consider offering to let her practice with my throwing knives and even further bolster her chances, but dismiss the idea because that would call into question why I have them in the first place. Instead, I pluck the second weapon from my belt and call out, “I can teach you some more useful tricks for combat if you want.” She yanks the blade out of the bark and turns around, intrigued. “How to use the hatchets defensively and in closer range, and how to throw two at once.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Two at once?” She hooks the one she’s holding over her shoulder and creeps back my way. “That would be your thing, now wouldn’t it?” There’s just the slightest edge in her tone.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, it’s exactly the same,” I snark. “Except axes don’t get jealous and throw each other away.” I finish that with a pointed look that Katniss deflects with another blank stare.

“If you’re hoping for an apology, you’re not gonna get one,” she declares plainly.

“I don’t need an apology,” I assure her. “But I’d like it if you gave one to Darius. You were a total asshole to him.” Katniss scoffs and looks down, clearly not thrilled by the idea, but doesn’t outright refuse either. I find the scene in question replaying in my head, as it has many times before, and I smile lewdly. “But honestly, it was kind of hot.” Katniss blinks back up in surprise and I clarify, “The possessive behavior, I mean.” A smug smile starts pulling at her lips.

“Oh, really?” she purrs, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I smirk, slinking a couple of steps to put her within arm’s reach. “But if you’re gonna go around staking your claim, I hope you intend to follow through.”

“What do you mean?”

I bite my lip. Now’s the time to tell her. Ask her. I take a steady breath and start with, “Honestly, I’m glad it’s over with Darius. Relieved, anyway.” I smile wryly. “Maybe I should be thanking you, because I knew I’d have to end it eventually and I couldn’t find it in myself to do it.”

There’s a slight waver in Katniss’s poker face and her throat bobs, so I’m pretty sure she already knows the answer when she digs, “Why did you need to end it?”

“Because I want to be with you,” I tell her. “For real.” I look straight into those smoky gray hues and spell out, “I want to be your girlfriend.”

Katniss blushes and averts her eyes within seconds, but I see a smile creeping onto her face just before she ducks it into her shoulder. I catch her fingers fiddling with the cuff of her jacket sleeve as she works up to speaking. “Is that even allowed?” She lifts her head, and I can see she’s full on beaming now. If the heat and pain in my cheeks is any indication, so am I.

I close in and take her fidgeting right hand in my left. “Definitely not,” I drawl, circling my thumb over the back of her hand. “But you won’t say anything, right? Believe me, you’ll want me to keep my tongue.” Katniss blinks dumbly and I laugh. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Now her eyes narrow in mild offense.

“They cut your tongue out if you commit acts of treason?” she surmises crossly. Wow, talk about missing the point. But if she doesn’t know about Avoxes, it’s worth explaining. It will shed some light on my previous hesitance to get involved with her.

“Or cut it so you can’t speak. Either way.” I shrug and roll my tongue around my mouth, taking comfort in the fact that it’s still there. “Make you a slave, usually doing horrible work like in the Capitol sewers or something. Pretty good incentive to stay loyal if you’re a Peacekeeper or a Capitol citizen.”

Katniss inches backward and looks me over, loosening her grip. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she deliberates, her forehead creasing in concern. I squeeze her hand before she can pull away completely.

“I mean, honestly, that wouldn’t happen here,” I backpedal. “Not under Cray, anyway. Even throughout the districts, I think this kind of thing happens here and there.” Katniss releases a tiny sigh of relief and slides her fingers between my willing ones. But I don’t want her to think there’s no risk involved, so I add, “The problem would really be if it caused me to act against orders. That’s bad enough, but then if they find out about the relationship…” I stick my tongue out and snip my fingers repeatedly like scissors.

“So what you’re saying is, you can’t give me any special treatment,” she gathers.

“Not exactly,” I correct her. “I’m saying I can’t let it affect my work. My loyalty still has to be to the Capitol, first and foremost. For the safety of both of us.” She makes a face and my mouth twitches in acknowledgement. “I know. But honestly, I don’t see it being an issue. Not unless Cray’s right and you’re planning on starting riots or something.”

“No,” she quickly denies. “I just want to keep me and my sister alive.” I chuckle inwardly. That was meant to be rhetorical, but I find her insistence comforting nonetheless.

“Then we should be fine.” I reach out for her free hand, and as soon as our fingers connect I break into another huge grin. I cock my head and prod, “So, what do you say? Wanna be my girlfriend?”

The hunter’s answer is more hesitant than her smile would suggest. “Depends on what you mean by that.” At my puzzled look, she rephrases, “How is it different from what we’re doing already?”

“Well, for one, it means you get to call me your girlfriend.” I raise a meaningful eyebrow. “Darius never got to do that.” I’m expecting the grin that spreads across her face at that. Predictable, yet still adorable. “It means you don’t have to worry about him or anyone else, and I don’t have to worry about Gale. It means we’ll spend more time together, if we can.” I smirk and deliver the kicker, “And it means you can kiss me whenever you want.”

Katniss bites her lip, but her huge smile quickly pops it back out of her teeth. I watch, entranced, as it regains its color. “I like the sound of that,” she breathes, grazing her thumbs over mine.

“Good. So do I.” I push up on my toes and kiss my girlfriend, Katniss Everdeen. I like the sound of that even better. Her tongue pushes into my mouth almost immediately and I gasp in surprise. This pulls a grunt out of her and her hands jump up to cradle my face with both hands. Her passionate response is really sexy, not gonna lie, but this is a moment I’d rather savor, so I make deliberate eye contact and draw my tongue back a little. She gets the picture surprisingly quickly and loosens her grip on me a bit, pulling back enough to take a breath.

I close the tiny gap she left and reengage our lips, and this time her response is firm but measured. Perfect. I cup her cheek with my left hand and slide the right to the small of her back, losing myself to the brush of her thumbs over my jaw, the taste of game on her tongue, her stormy gray eyes. I feel like I’m drowning, but in the most pleasant way possible. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel this happy again.

***

I’m in full uniform when I show up at the school at a quarter to three on Tuesday afternoon. Hanging out with Katniss at the Hob all the time is bound to look suspicious, if Greasy Sae’s reaction after our interaction with Darius last week is any indication, so I need to get creative if I’m to hold up that promise of seeing each other more often. So here I am, moving against the rush of bodies eagerly exiting the area, though most of them do make a point of staying out of my way. I’m not used to that, being of small stature. It must be the gun.

I’ve been fruitlessly scanning the passing crowds for either Everdeen sister for a couple minutes before I pick out another familiar face. I keep an eye on the doors while moving to my left to intercept the girl.

“Hey, blondie!” I call. A few blond kids look up, but only the one I recognize sees me staring at her from ten feet away. She stops but is just as wordless as the last time I saw her. “You got a sec?”

She blinks out to the crowd and barely mumbles, “What is it?”

“Speak up, Goldilocks,” I demand mockingly. The girl’s eyes narrow and I smirk in satisfaction.

“You were much more polite last time,” she observes dryly, significantly louder. I can’t help it, my eyes widen in surprise.

“You remember me?”

“Hard to forget someone who arrests your best friend.” I recall that Katniss once said this girl was hardly even a friend, if she was indeed referring to her. But I don’t mention that. “Besides, she explained who you were once she got back.” The blonde pops her eyes pointedly. “Johanna.”

“Oh?” I cock an eyebrow and fold my arms. “What did she say about me?”

“That you’re a friend from the Hob and you pretended to arrest her so you could talk trades.” She smiles, I think. Maybe it’s a grimace. Either way, it doesn’t seem entirely friendly. It’s probably the gun, again. “Pretty creative,” she remarks.

“Thanks. I think.” I glance back at the flow of students, checking for Katniss once more. Still no luck. “I’m looking for her, actually,” I reveal. “Have you seen her?”

“Last I saw, she was still inside,” the girl offers, nodding her head toward the building. “She usually walks home with her sister.”

“All right.” Hoping to throw her the way she did me, I tack on a casual, “Thanks, Mags.” She purses her lips, but not before I catch them starting to turn up, or the slight shudder of her body as she suppresses a snicker. Great. “It’s not Mags, is it?”

“Madge,” she corrects me. “Undersee.”

My eyebrows lift in surprise, but I try to make it look intentional. “Like the mayor?”

“Yes, like the mayor,” she repeats with a tinge of impatience.

“Huh.” The mayor’s daughter, I assume. He’s much more friendly than she is, from my limited interactions with the man. “So Katniss has friends in high places,” I muse.

Madge takes a pointed look at my uniform. “Looks that way.”

I’m about to ask her if she has a problem with that, but then I catch sight of Prim exiting the building and I reckon Katniss can’t be far behind. I leave the first blonde behind with a curt, “Thanks, Undersee” and head straight for the shorter one. As I expected, Katniss pushes out the door within seconds. What I didn’t expect was Gale right on her heel. I pause mid-step, briefly unsure what to do. I could just wait and follow them to her house, see her there. But if she’s going to go around staking her claims, maybe I should return the favor. Before I get a chance to decide, Prim sees me and waves.

“Johanna!” she calls out, trotting over with a smile. I don’t see her often, but I’ve run into her enough times in full uniform by now for her to recognize me, even with the helmet on.

“Hey, Prim,” I falter, glancing up to assess the others’ reactions. Katniss is gaping, Gale glaring. Well, something like that. He mostly just looks mildly annoyed. “How’ve you been, kiddo?” I ask, returning some of my attention to the younger Everdeen. I still catch Gale turning to Katniss and starting a discussion.

“I’ve been okay,” she replies. “You?”

“Not bad,” I answer automatically. Katniss catches my eye, and warmth suddenly floods my core. She’s keeping her expression fairly neutral, but there’s a light in her eyes that almost makes me woozy. “Really good, actually,” I muse. I grin down at Prim. “I’ve been great.” She smiles. “What about your sister? Has she been all right lately?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I do love having my ego stroked. Among other things.

“I think so, yeah.” Oh. Well, so much for flattery. I peek up at the others in time to see Gale nod and peel off toward the Seam. “She’s been kind of moody, but that’s not unusual,” Prim smirks. I laugh. “But I caught her singing last night. She hasn’t done that in years without me begging and pleading first.”

“Not since–” I catch myself before I say something insensitive, and just nod instead. But Prim seems to know what I mean.

“Yeah. Since then.”

Katniss is almost upon us now, so I catch her eye and nod after Gale. “Did I scare him off?” I joke. Well, sort of.

“Nah,” she shrugs. “We’re both heading home before we meet up later. We can afford to now that it’s light out longer.” She eyes up my armor uneasily. “I thought you were off at two.”

“Oh, I was, I just…” I sweep my eyes around the schoolyard. “I didn’t want to seem out of place.” While an on-duty Peacekeeper hardly avoids detection, there are always some near the school when it lets out, making sure the crowds disperse with no trouble and the smaller kids get home safely. A Peacekeeper just hanging around the school without explanation raises more questions.

“So why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” I sass her. “For the extremely pleasant company, of course.”

“Oh, no, I meant…” Katniss trails off under my teasing gaze.

Prim tugs on my sleeve and pipes up, “Do you want to walk us home?”

“Yes, Prim,” I smile affectionately. “That’s exactly why I’m here, actually.”

She grins. “Great. Buttercup would love to see you.” I glance over at Katniss and catch her rolling her eyes. “And Mom’s been asking about you.”

I can feel the panic rise in my chest while I watch it overcome the taller girl’s gray eyes. Then she glares down at her sister with a half-open mouth. “Prim!” she snaps.

“What?” She flicks her eyes between us. “I didn’t mean in a bad way.” Somehow, I have a hard time believing that. Nonetheless, I gesture toward the Seam in a command for her to lead the way. Prim takes one of Katniss’s hands as the three of us start travelling northwest. I wish I could take the other. I flex my fingers in my gloves instead.

“Do you buy that?” I mumble just loudly enough for Katniss to hear. She tosses me a questioning glance. “Your mom asking about me nicely.”

“She’s just curious, I think,” she answers casually, at full volume. “She knows you gave me a really good deal on those pants. And I don’t have a lot of friends.” But the look in her eyes when they flit back over to me is more apprehensive than her tone suggests.

“And the ones you have aren’t entirely pleasant,” I add. Katniss smirks until I say, “I just had a lovely conversation with the mayor’s daughter.” Then her brow crinkles.

“What did she say?”

“Not much,” I shrug. “She just didn’t seem very impressed with the fact that we’re friendly.” I lower my voice again. “I guess I didn’t give her the best first impression, arresting you ‘to talk trades’ and all.”

Katniss continues to walk silently for a moment but then stops and looks down at her sister. “Prim, why don’t you run on ahead?” she directs her. 

“Why?” the smaller girl whines.

“Hanna and I have some things to talk about,” is Katniss’s vague answer. Prim narrows her eyes peevishly, and I don’t blame her. I used to hate it when my brother and sister would shoo me away so they could talk about big kid things with their friends, especially when I liked said friends. Katniss tilts her head down meaningfully. “Please.” Her tone makes it clear that she’s not asking. Prim rolls her eyes dramatically and stamps away, in the biggest display of attitude I’ve ever seen from the blond sweetheart.

Once she’s out of earshot, I remark, “This must be serious.”

“It’s just nothing she needs to know about,” Katniss replies, starting forward again. I fall into step beside her. “Look, Madge is pretty familiar with the kinds of dealings that Peacekeepers sometimes engage in. Her dad entertains Cray fairly often to stay in his good graces, but he secretly detests him.” She gives me a pointed look. “For many reasons.”

“He knows about the girls.”

“Yeah, and by extension, so does Madge. And she’s not an idiot. She doesn’t talk much, but I know she listens. And these are our classmates, you know?” I nod. I do know. People talk. “Cray’s not the only one,” Katniss continues. “If a girl from the Seam is friendly with a Peacekeeper and disappears with him from time to time, it kind of looks like…”

“Like she’s blowing him for breadcrumbs,” I finish.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that makes sense, then. I can see why she’d be concerned.” I waffle a moment before disclosing, “She called you her best friend, you know.”

“Really?” Katniss sounds genuinely surprised. Perhaps she assumed Madge was as indifferent as she is toward their relationship. She flits her eyes back to the road. “Gale’s mine.”

“I know. At least he has good reason not to like me.” I don’t doubt he’s picked up on the chemistry and tension between the two of us. “You think he knows?”

“Maybe,” she ponders. “But I think he would say something if he did. He was really angry after Darius pulled that stunt with the kisses back in January. He thinks Peacekeepers should never flirt with locals, much less anything else. Says it isn’t fair.”

My brow creases. “Isn’t fair how?”

“Like it’s difficult to refuse without getting on someone’s bad side, I guess he thinks. Like there’s always a power imbalance.” She shrugs dismissively. “Gale is always looking for those. Always needs something to be angry about.”

“He didn’t really object to me flirting with him,” I remark. In fact, he seemed to at least sort of enjoy it until that time I brought up handcuffs. Then again, I realize now, I never bothered to ask.

Katniss gives me a bit of side eye, but lets it go. “Maybe it’s because you’re a girl and he’s a guy?” she suggests. I roll my eyes. “Never said he isn’t a bit hypocritical. He’s very protective of me.”

“No doubt,” I mutter.

When we make it to the Everdeen house, Katniss pauses awkwardly by the gate. “Do you want to come in?” she hazards. “We can go to the woods right away and hang out until Gale shows up, but I want to check in first.” I guess she doesn’t mind her mom seeing us together unless it’s a Sunday. Or maybe she’s just getting braver.

“Sure,” I shrug, squeaking past her and into the yard. She doesn’t need to know just how unnerved I was by Prim’s comment about their mom. I’m sure Mrs. Everdeen remembers my battle axe and would have no qualms about reporting it if she felt anything was amiss. Like if she found out I was kissing her daughter, for instance.

“Hey, Mom,” Katniss hails casually as she enters the house. I guardedly close the door behind me as she takes a few steps toward the woman, who’s peering at a collection of small glass jars on the table. “Prim make it home okay?”

“Yeah, she’s upstairs,” the blonde replies without looking up. For the moment. When she does, her eyes lock on me immediately. “Hello, Johanna,” she greets me politely.

“Hi, Mrs. Everdeen,” I reply, inching into the house. “Nice to see you again.”

Her eyes linger on my gun, but still she says, “Likewise.”

I clear my throat and venture toward the table. “What is all this? Your medicinal herbs?”

“Yes, I’m taking inventory,” she explains. I nod and pick up a jar to examine its contents. “What brings you here?”

“I was working by the school and ran into your girls on the way home.” I shrug. “Thought I’d walk them back.”

She squints. “Both of them?”

“Yeah…” Right, Prim came home ahead of us. I turn to Katniss, who’s been hanging back and watching us interact up to this point. “I’m gonna go talk to Prim for a minute. That cool?”

“Go ahead,” she agrees. I look to Mrs. Everdeen for additional approval, and she nods. I don’t miss the scowl Katniss makes at the gesture of deference.

I climb the rickety staircase and reach a door guarding the loft under the steep peak of the ceiling. I knock confidently. There’s no answer. “Prim?” I call out. “Prim, it’s Johanna. Can I come in?”

A muffled yes filters through the wood, so I push it in and find a single room behind it. It’s a decent size but has two beds, one of which Prim is lying on with Buttercup, stroking his scruffy coat. He mewls hopefully at the sight of me. I wonder for a moment where their mom sleeps until I remember Katniss saying she shares with Prim. All of them in one room? That sounds potentially really awkward.

I stride forward and perch on the edge of the bed. “Hey, Prim,” I say. She looks up but says nothing. “I’m sorry about that. If I’d realized I was bringing up a sensitive topic Katniss didn’t want you to hear about, I would have waited.” I tilt my head so it’s lower and closer to hers, flashing her a disarming grin. “I’m happy to see you, as well.” A flicker of hope crosses her face. 

“Really?” she asks.

“Of course!” I gasp with exaggerated enthusiasm, slapping a hand over my chest. Prim giggles. “I saw you my first day here, and I liked you right away,” I reveal, in a more serious tone. “You were selling cheese in the market. Your smile lit up the whole square.” That smile takes over her face again, and my mouth automatically mirrors hers.

“Thanks, Hanna,” she beams. I smile into my collar and bite my lip so I don’t give away just how adorable I find her use of her sister’s nickname for me.

“Listen, Prim, about your sister…” I start. She breaks eye contact in favor of petting the cat some more and kissing his head. “There are things a young girl shouldn’t have to know about that she does. She’s trying to make it so you don’t have to. Like how she hunts and takes out tesserae so you don’t have to.” Prim begrudgingly looks up and I assure her, “She wasn’t trying to exclude you, she was trying to protect you. Like she always does.”

“I know,” she huffs, shifting so she’s sitting up and holding her knees to her chest. “But I can handle more than she thinks. She’s the one who just about passes out at the sight of human blood.”

My mouth falls open. “Really?”

Prim nods. “Mom’s the best healer in the district, so we have people who are sick and injured coming through here all the time. When we get really bad cases, Katniss goes all pale and runs away.” A genuine and surprised laugh escapes me. The visual of Katniss freaking out and hightailing it over a little bit of blood is uncharacteristic. And hilarious. I make a mental note to tease her about it next time she’s being a brat. Goaded on by my reaction, Prim jerks back and throws on an exaggerated stunned expression, and after a second’s pause starts cycling her arms and legs at a furious pace. I full on double over and cackle this time, and Prim dissolves into a fit of giggles beside me.

“Oh my god, that’s totally how she runs, too,” I gasp through peals of laughter. “Like she’s being chased by a pack of wolves.”

Prim nods enthusiastically and continues, “And then she comes back hours later and peeks in the door like she’s afraid a bunch of patients are going to jump out and, like, rub their infected wounds on her.”

I chuckle and wipe my eyes. “I didn’t think Katniss was afraid of anything. Except for you getting hurt.” Prim sets her jaw, recognizing my segue back to the serious conversation. I tilt my head down to her again. “You know, you’re all she cares about, Prim. She’s always saying how she just wants to keep you alive, and her face lights up this certain way when she’s talking about you, in a way I never see when she’s talking about anything else.” I clap my hand on her closest knee and give it a little jostle. “I wish my older siblings had cared more about me. You have a good one.”

“I know,” Prim sighs. “She’s just kind of mean about it, sometimes.”

“Katniss doesn’t realize when she’s being mean, I don’t think,” I cogitate. “She’s just… direct.” I smile and jerk my head toward the door. “Do you want to come downstairs?”

Prim considers this for a moment but ultimately agrees. She stands and scoops up Buttercup, who meows weakly in protest. Just as I’m about to open the door, she calls after me, “You were wrong, though.” I turn around and squint in confusion and she closes the gap. Prim smiles and snuggles the cat closer to her chest. “Her face lights up when she talks about you, too.”

My initial reaction is one of shock, because I honestly didn’t think Katniss would talk to her sister about me, for any reason. Then I feel my cheeks start to burn and I silently curse myself. I smirk away the blush and play it off as casually as I can at this point. “Of course it does,” I brag. “I’m amazing.”

The second I open the door, we’re accosted by the harsh whispers of the two women downstairs. “If you need them so soon, why don’t you go get them yourself?” growls Katniss.

“I’m not comfortable beyond the fence, you know that.”

Katniss scoffs. “Well neither was I, when I was eleven.” I glance over my shoulder and catch Prim’s resigned expression as the two carry on.

“I just need this one thing from you,” snaps Mrs. Everdeen. “Do you have to be so difficult?”

“One thing?” Katniss chuckles darkly. “Are you kidding me?”

I frown and thump my way down the rest of the staircase, making a point of announcing our presence. By the time I round the corner and hit the landing a few steps above floor level, the two are just glaring at each other silently. I pointedly raise my eyebrows as Prim comes down the last of the stairs behind me.

“What was all that racket about?” Katniss inquires suspiciously.

I turn my eyes down to Prim and grin conspiratorially. “It’s a secret,” she giggles. I wink at her and turn back to the others with a devious smirk. Katniss folds her arms and their mom purses her lips, but neither says anything.

“I’m gonna get going,” I announce, making sure to catch Katniss’s eyes and flick mine toward the fence. “Nice seeing you all again.” I palm Prim’s shoulder and give it an affectionate squeeze before making for the door.

I’m lounging on the grass by the fence when Katniss joins me several minutes later. “Careful, you’re gonna get grass stains all over your shiny white clothes,” she warns me.

“Only if I roll around in it,” I retort. Then I throw her a wink and ask, “Wanna join me?”

Katniss snorts and extends a hand to help me up. I take it gladly, scooping my helmet off the ground on the way up. “We have to make a side trip before I meet Gale,” she complains. “Might not have time for anything else.” For kissing? It’s adorable, she can’t even say it.

“Again, just happy to see you,” I assure her. She smiles half-heartedly and leads the way under the fence.

“Well, I purposely made time to spend with you, and of course my mom goes and steals it,” she gripes. “I try not to drag Gale around gathering medicinal herbs when we should be tracking game. It’s a waste of his time.”

“You didn’t tell him to show up later because you wanted to run off and make out with me in the woods, did you?” I grin smugly at Katniss’s instantaneous blush.

“No, I told him Prim needed me to help her with some math stuff a little bit first.” I chuckle and nudge her, but opt not to verbally tease her for lying to Gale to get time alone with me. She starts toward the edge of the woods and remarks, “You seem to get on really well with her. I noticed that last time, too.” Her expression is every bit as unaffected as her tone, and I’m not sure if that comment was meant to be innocuous or hostile.

“Do you have a problem with that?” I inquire cautiously.

Katniss shakes her head, but her lack of enthusiasm does little to convince me. “It’s good you two get along,” she says. “I’m glad you could cheer her up.”

“That was the idea.”

A worry line forms in Katniss’s brow. “How did you do it?” she probes softly a moment later.

“Mm, let’s see,” I muse haughtily. “By acknowledging her feelings. Listening to her.”

The brunette catches my eye sourly. “You saying I don’t do that?” she demands.

“I’m saying it’s rich, you dismissing her like that when you hate being looked down on for your age,” I scold her. “You can’t stand being treated like a child, so why do that to her?”

“She is a child,” scoffs Katniss. I shoot her a dirty look and she tosses a hand for emphasis. “She’s not doing what I was doing when I was eleven.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not capable,” I retort.

“That’s not even the point. I told you before, I don’t want her knowing some of the stuff that goes on around here,” she reiterates. Then she blinks away and mutters, “And I don’t want her to know the things people might have against our relationship. No need to make her judge you too.”

“You’ve judged me more than anyone, you know,” I point out. Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment.

“Yeah, and the verdict came out in your favor.” She catches my eye and smiles. “Eventually.”

We’ve reached the hollow log just inside the tree line where she keeps her primary bow and quiver. She unzips the waterproof sheath and extracts them, shaking the string loose from one of my axes. “The patch of herbs my mother wants is near where I meet Gale,” she says. “It’s not too far from here.” I set my helmet down on the log, reach in and remove my weapons. Katniss observes curiously but doesn’t comment.

“Then at least you don’t have to go out of your way,” I mention nonchalantly, mindlessly twirling the hatchets in my hands. Honestly, it’s one of the most calming sensations I know.

“Yeah, but I have enough shit to do already,” she grumbles, slinging the quiver over her shoulder.

I narrow my eyes inquisitively. “I thought you liked gathering the herbs.” When she gazes back at me with equal confusion, I point out, “You talked enough about it.” She blushes and bounces her eyes away.

“I find it interesting,” she mumbles defensively. “And I’m used to doing it, my mom just has really bad timing. As usual.”

“Like when she scared you by disappearing on Tour Day?” I suggest. Katniss shrugs and gives me a small nod. I pitch one of my axes into a nearby tree and pointedly continue, “Because she was off doing her job?”

Katniss’s eyes set alight and she sneers, “No, more like when she clocked out right after my dad died, leaving two young kids with no parents.” She plants her free hand on her hip and demands, “Why are you defending her?”

“Because I can tell she’s trying,” I contend. “She’s trying to do better. And I’m sure she’d become more helpful a lot sooner if you were more supportive.” Katniss scoffs, causing my eyes to narrow again. “Unless you don’t want her to be helpful.” I sidearm the second axe with a loud grunt and watch proudly as it sticks an inch above and perpendicular to the other blade. I turn back to the hunter and jab, “Then you’d lose the pride you get from leading the family. And you’d have to be civil to her.”

If Katniss’s eyes were on fire before, they’re a blazing, all-consuming inferno now. She shoves me and backs me up against a tree, and I suddenly regret my decision to loose both my axes. Before I have a chance to say anything, she reaches up and pins her bow across my neck, leaning in painfully close. The heat radiating off her burning face shoots through my body and strikes between my legs. My eyes bulge with arousal, which she no doubt misinterprets as fear, given the hint of satisfaction in her expression.

“Shut the fuck up, Mason,” she growls. “I’m not taking any more of your shit.” I don’t care about my shit, I just wish she’d take me. Ugh, no, I can’t wish for that yet. “Just because you’re my girlfriend now doesn’t give you permission to comment on all my relationships. Where do you think you get off telling me how to deal with my own parents all the time? Even my sister, now.” She cocks her head and taunts me, “Did your mommy and daddy not love you?”

“N-no,” I wheeze, “they did.”

“Are they still alive? Still together?” I nod, and she scoffs spitefully. “Then you have nothing to say about it.” She jams the bow into my chest and propels herself off of me with that hand. “It’s none of your fucking business, anyway.”

I rub my neck and retort, “Maybe not, but I know what it’s like. To be so devastated by a loss that you are consumed by it.” I close in on her and she watches and listens with interest. “You can’t move. Part of you wants to, but you’re too tired, and what’s the point? When Clove betrayed me, it just…” I sigh and shake my head to clear the emotions suddenly flooding it. “I’m not saying her neglect is excusable, but I understand how it could happen, because I know what it feels like to lose something you love, something that means the world to you.”

Katniss scans my face perceptively. “Something?” she queries. “Not someone?” She slowly folds her arms. “You were way more attached to the job your girlfriend stole from you than you were to her, weren’t you?”

“I’d only been dating Clove a little over a year. I’d been angling for that job since I was ten.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Ten?” she repeats disbelievingly. “Wow, is it a huge deal in Two or something?”

I shrug. “There’s a lot of interest in it,” I answer evasively.

“Well, then I guess I get why you’d be more upset over that,” she admits. Her eyes fall to her fidgeting foot, and I immediately tip her chin up to bring them back.

“It’s not like I didn’t care about Clove, you know,” I reassure her. “Or my relationships in general. But when someone takes something so important from you, you can’t help but hate her.” I scoff and point at my uniform. “It’s because of her that I’m stuck in this gross outfit and even grosser district.” Katniss’s eyes narrow and I quickly tack on, “Present company excluded, of course. It’s mostly the smell that I hate.”

“You know, Johanna, you’re not doing too bad for yourself,” she lectures me. “I know you had to leave your family behind, but you make a decent living as a Peacekeeper. And you get a pension, right?”

“Maybe,” I shrug.

“I know you said it's for losers, but I thought being a Peacekeeper was the most prestigious thing you could be, coming from Two. You know, unless you're a vict...” Katniss’s mouth slips open as she trails off. Slowly, she turns her head to peek behind her. Her eyes jump from the axes to me and back, widening while she pales. “Oh my god,” she whispers. I grab her arm before she can take the next step Prim described. Anger is just overcoming the shock in her expression as she turns back once more.

“You were going to volunteer,” she states in a low, dangerous tone. But I’m too frightened of losing her in this moment to be even remotely turned on.

“Katniss–”

“What the ever-loving fuck, Johanna?!” she bellows, snatching her arm out of my grasp.

“Wait,” I plead, instinctively reaching for her hand. She slaps mine away before I even get close, unadulterated disdain in her eyes. Suddenly, my uniform feels 50 pounds heavier, my heart like it’s quite literally being stabbed out of my chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she growls. She takes a long look at me, slowly shaking her head. “You’re not who I thought you were.” Tears spring to my eyes.

“Things are different there, okay?” I desperately explain. I recover an ounce of my sass but mostly just sound resigned when I ask, “What do you want me to say?” Katniss scoffs and turns into the woods, but I scurry around her and block her path before she can take two steps. I brace my hand against her chest like she did to me in the Hob, like I did to her behind the truck. We’re always trying to keep each other from running away. Shouldn’t that mean she thinks there’s something worth saving?

“Really,” I insist, “what can I say or do to make this better?”

Katniss stares at me intently, her gaze only briefly deviating over my shoulder, back to the axes. It’s a long, breathless moment before she demands, “Train me.”

I blink rapidly, and I’m keenly aware of my mouth hanging open. “What?”

“Train me for combat,” she repeats. “Teach me everything you know. Your weapons, strategies, everything.”

“I…” I swallow and give my head a tiny shake. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m in there twenty times this year, Hanna. Twenty-eight by the time I age out,” she tells me, a distinct waver coloring her otherwise cold tone. I know it. Fear. “The odds aren’t in my favor in the bowl, so I need them to be in the arena.” I still can only stare, stunned, and she tilts her head. “Do want to make this better or not?”

“Yes,” I agree immediately. “I’m happy to do it.” Her eyes fall shut and she releases a tiny sigh. “I was just surprised,” I explain. She opens one eye questioningly, though I don’t see how this could possibly need spelling out. “The way you talk about the Games, about the Career districts especially, I assumed you’d never ever condone someone training for them.” I bite my cheek and toe the dirt. “That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I barely whisper. I finger the material in my hand, deathly afraid of the second she’ll pull away. “I knew you’d think I’m a horrible person for training and planning to volunteer.” 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna volunteer, okay?” she snarks. “This is different. I just want to be prepared.”

“Okay,” I nod. “I’ll make sure you’re ready. I would anyway. If you were reaped and killed in the Games, I–” My voice catches and I have to look away and try to swallow the painful lump in my throat. “If you died, I’d be lost,” I rasp. I drag my eyes back to Katniss to find her gawking slack-jawed.

“Do you really mean that?” she breathes.

“Yes. I care about you more than you think, I swear,” I whisper. “I… I don’t wanna lose you.” She surely knows I mean lose her to this revelation, not to the Games. Truly, what are the odds of that? An agonizing moment passes before she steps into me and presses her lips to my forehead. I cinch my arms around her, more grateful for her touch than I ever thought I’d be. She nuzzles my hairline and then slowly pulls back. I watch her warily, keeping my hands splayed on her lower back.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, Johanna Mason,” she mumbles pensively. She gives my left forearm a tiny squeeze with her shooting hand. “I’ll see you Thursday,” she says. She gives me a once over and adds, “Sober. And bring your battle axe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fans of Lifeblood, I am working on that concurrently, and a good chunk of chapter 16 is finished. I just had more momentum with this fic. I will probably work on LB more in the near future because this is a turning point in this story and a good time to take a breather. FYI.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for putting up with shitty drafts written at 2 am. ;)


	9. Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few housekeeping notes...
> 
> I have made a couple of small changes to earlier chapters because I realized there were some conflicts regarding Jo's schooling situation. All I did was go back and clarify that she dropped out to enlist, i.e. she was a "seventeen" (in Gale's grade) and would have been eligible for the next reaping had she stayed in Two.
> 
> A couple of people have asked me what I envision Darius looking like, or if he has a celebrity lookalike. Best answer is, one day several months ago I saw a picture of Ed Sheeran for the first time and I was just like "Holy shit, it's Darius." I envision Darius having slightly darker, redder hair, and obviously he has darker eyes and is taller than Ed. (And not British.) But otherwise, they look pretty similar.
> 
> It may also be worth remembering that Katniss in this story has a mix of book and movie canon traits, including a midrange height of about 5'7. One or two descriptions in this chapter will make more sense with that in mind.

“No, no.” I disengage my weapon and step back. “It’s block-block-swing-jab.”

“That’s what I did!” Katniss protests.

“Block means deflect,” I correct her. “You’re overreaching and losing your center of balance.” She huffs and drags her nails through her hair, jaw set in frustration. This is our fourth session working with the battle axe, and she’s still struggling with the basics. That’s not abnormal, but Katniss is used to being an overachiever. “It takes practice,” I assure her. “You’ll get it.”

“Maybe I should just stick to the throwing axes,” she grumbles, nodding at the one in my grasp. “Work with something I actually have half a chance of mastering.”

“Mastering one weapon isn’t gonna help you, Katniss. You never know what weapons will be available.”

She catches my eye suspiciously. “I thought you said that’s what you all do in Two.”

“Not the kids who are actually planning to volunteer. Not if they’re smart,” I contend. “Look, I know you’ve got a huge ego to feed, but you’re honestly better off working on your weaknesses. That’s what I did.”

She narrows her eyes and snaps, “Like shutting the fuck up, for instance?”

I chuckle. “You’re a range fighter, Katniss. You work with weapons you can throw or shoot. You pick people off before they can get close enough to you to do any damage.” She nods. “That’s a great skill set to have, but what will you do if someone rushes you before you can get a shot off?”

She purses her lips and squints at the ground. I’m about to continue when she suddenly replies, “Use my bow defensively to block blows, if they have a sword or a spear. If they tackle me, try to draw an arrow and use it like a knife.”

“Well, that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but very good. You’re thinking like a warrior,” I grin proudly. “It’s good you can improvise.”

“Improvisation is my life, Johanna,” she remarks flatly. “I make do with what I have.”

“That might be the most valuable skill you have, you know,” I earnestly state, inching closer. “Surviving.”

“There’s no need for empty flattery here.”

“Hey, it’s not empty.” My hand instinctively cups her cheek. “It’s not.”

It’s only once Katniss catches my eye that I remember this isn’t something I can just do anymore. She hasn’t kissed me since she found out my secret, or at least not on the lips. Despite that reconciliatory gesture in the moment, she’s been frosty with me ever since. Her blank stare causes me to draw my hand back. “Okay, let’s try it again.”

“It’s a waste of time,” she sighs.

Planting a fist on my hip, I assert, “Listen, if you want me to train you, you have to trust me. Okay?”

“Trust you?” she echoes disbelievingly. “How could I ever trust you?” The muscles in her cheeks are tense, her eyes gleaming with emotion. Her voice goes uncharacteristically high as she demands, “How could you keep something like that from me?”

I hook the axe over my shoulder and give her a look. “You understand why, don’t you? I knew how you’d react. I was hoping if you ever found out, you’d have gotten to know me better by then and realized… I don’t know…” I eye and toe the ground as I trail off. “That I’m not such a bad person.”

“No,” she declares. I catch her gaze and find it hard. “I don’t know you at all.” My face falls, and hers wavers just a little in response. Then she turns away and spikes the curved edge of my axe into the forest floor, standing it up diagonally. She barely looks at me as she swipes her game bag off the ground. “I’m late to meet Gale.”

She’s not. For the past week, we’ve been training closer to the Seam so she doesn’t have to waste time walking around the town and Victor’s Village just to get to me. It gives us a lot more time, especially now that the days have been stretching out in advance of today’s equinox. She and Gale don’t have to rush into the woods after school anymore and cram their hunting into the hour or two before dark. But she’s especially snappy today and I’ve just about lost both the patience to instruct her and the hope of us truly reconciling. But I’m a sucker for punishment. Or at least a sucker for her.

“Fine,” I say flatly. “See you Sunday?”

“Yeah.” With that, she’s striding away. Burdened down by all three axes, I sigh and start trudging toward the fence. I’ve been storing my battle axe out here since our first lesson, wrapped in my large duffel bag and stashed in another nearby log. I don’t think she’s been practicing with it like she did the smaller axes. Katniss has remarkably little patience for anything that doesn’t come naturally to her. She can sit up in a tree for ages waiting for prey to walk by, but can’t put an hour of effort into learning a new weapon without getting frustrated. Clove had the same problem. I always told her being a one-trick pony won’t win you the Games. She’d just roll her eyes. I guess I have a type.

Twenty minutes later, I make it to the cement steps outside the M wing door, fully prepared to flop down on my bed and brood all evening. Just as I’m swiping my card and reaching for the handle, the door swings open with force and I have to jump back to avoid being bowled over by Thena and Tory. They skid to a stop on the landing and I grab the door as it starts to swing back, holding it open.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “After you.”

Tory straight up laughs. “Mason, what is with you these days?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sneer.

“Since when are you polite?”

“Yeah, you sure you’re feeling okay?” Athena chimes in, unable to keep a straight face. “It’s kind of scary.”

“Hilarious,” I grumble.

“I thought you were over the Darius thing,” she presses. I have to fight to keep my expression neutral at that. I probably should have guessed we were fooling no one, or at least not my next-door neighbor. It’s slightly embarrassing, but to be fair, she’s much more of a screamer than I am. “You were beaming for a few days there.”

“Yeah, did you guys get back together and then break it off again?” Tory inquires. She gets out an additional “We were wondering” before Thena can shush her.

My eyes narrow indignantly. “None of your damn business, Tory.”

“Johanna?” she gasps, shooting her eyebrows up comically. “Is that you?”

Athena snickers, and I abruptly barge between them and into the barracks. “Go fuck yourselves!” I call over my shoulder.

“That’s better!” Even with my back turned, I can hear the grin in Tory’s voice.

“Welcome back, Mason!”

I ignore them and follow through with my plan. I’ve been lying prone with the lights off for at least a couple hours when a knock on my door echoes throughout the room. I wince and don’t answer. But after a few seconds of silence, it resumes in the form of pounding. “Johanna!” Purnia calls. “Johanna, open up.” I still don’t move. I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.

My lock clicks, and I squeeze my eyes shut and groan under my breath. Goddamn officers and their master keys. Purnia flicks the light switch and I moan audibly.

“Bloody hell, Mason,” she mutters. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Leave me alone.” It’s sort of a suggested answer and sort of a demand, but I haven’t the energy to produce the rude inflection necessary for either.

“Are you hungover?”

“I wish,” I mumble into the mattress.

“Oh, perfect,” she chirps. “We can fix that. I’m heading to the Hob and I’m bringing you with me.”

“Fat fucking chance.”

“Come on, you haven’t done Thirsty Thursday in weeks.” I say nothing, so Purnia sighs and settles down on the edge of the mattress. “Look, Johanna, you can’t avoid Darius forever.”

“It’s not Darius!” I growl. “God!” I regret this the instant it spills out of my mouth. Or at least, I know I should. I’m just so sick of everyone’s assumptions and not being able to counter them, sick of having no one to spill my guts to. This secret relationship thing sucks.

There’s a long, tense moment of silence before Purnia gathers, “So it’s Katniss you’re avoiding.” I don’t respond. “Why?”

“She hates me.” That barely comes out as a whisper. I clear my throat and try a little harder. “She found out- I don’t know if you know this, but I was in the program back home.”

“Yeah. Cray told me.”

“Well, she finds Careers appalling, and she found out I wanted to be one. So now she hates me. And he hates me.” A high, scathing chuckle bursts from my lips. “Everyone hates me.”

Purnia is matter-of-fact as ever when she replies, “I don’t hate you.”

“Sure you do, Stark,” I counter. “You’re just not allowed to say that because you’re my boss.” 

Purnia huffs and rolls me over. One of my hands shoots up to block out the light just as she demands, “Do I seem like the sugar-coating type to you?”

“No,” I admit, cringing into the brightness. She holds my gaze firmly, but there’s a gentleness there that she can’t fake. I know she’s no liar, anyway. I rub my eyes and sigh, “I don’t think I can get her back.”

“Well, not if that’s your attitude,” she proclaims. “If you want her back, do something about it.”

I narrow my eyes and sneer, “What do you know about relationships?” It’s a low blow, but I am so beyond caring right now.

“Lots, actually,” Purnia retorts. “Look, Mason. You’re a bitch, but people like you for who you are, okay? Maybe the kid found out something that didn’t fit with how she saw you, but in the end, you’re still Johanna. Everyone has their shit, everyone has their secrets.”

This is certainly true for me. Even still. I gulp. “So?”

“Katniss has it bad for you, okay?” she spells out. “You’d have to be an idiot not to see that. So be the girl she fell for.” Despite my puzzled squint, she doesn’t elaborate. “Now, are you coming or not?”

“Not tonight,” I say. “I’m too tired to be myself.” She smirks and barely suppresses a chuckle, averting her eyes to my desk. Somehow, this pulls a small laugh out of me too.

“Okay,” she relents. “Another time. But I’m not letting you off the hook. You need to get your shit together, Agent.” She pats me firmly on the hip twice, then stands and heads for the hallway. Just as she’s opening my door, I call out to her.

“Hey, Purnia?” She looks back and I give her a grateful nod. “Thanks for being cool about this.”

She cocks her head cluelessly. “Cool about what?”

***

So we do have axes lying around the barracks after all. Or one, anyway. I discover this while I’m rooting through the tool shed tucked into a corner behind the building on Sunday morning. Besides the axe, there's a gas lawnmower that's seen better days, a couple of shovels and saws, and a variety of other junk. The shovels are close, but not quite what I'm looking for. The shafts are too thick and too short. Much like the first dude I ever banged.

I'm about to give up and resort to absconding with a broomstick from the janitorial closet when I set eyes on a garden rake buried behind a couple of sawhorses. I wiggle it free and examine it closer. It’s a little thin, but a good length. And without the metal, the weight should be close. It’s probably my best bet. No one’s going to be raking leaves around here for a good six months anyway.

When I arrive at our new training grounds in the mid-afternoon, Katniss is already there. She nods at the pole now wrapped in thin rope at the business end. “What’s with the walking stick?” she snorts.

“It’s a spear.” She squints incredulously, so I drop my bag and spin the rod one-handed at my side a few times before maneuvering it behind my back and continuing on my left. “It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough to give you a feel for the grip and the weight distribution of a shorter one.”

“Sure, but will that actually be anything like throwing a spear?” she puzzles. “It’s not even sharp.”

“You won’t need to throw it.” I grin at Katniss’s befuddled expression and toss the implement on the ground with the other weapons. “What you said about what you’d do with your bow and arrows in close depending on the other person’s weapons reminded me of something,” I explain, pulling a pair of dice from my pocket. “In the arena, you never know what situation you’ll get thrown into. What weapons will be available, who’ll get their hands on them. Which side of a broken alliance you’ll end up on.” She probably wouldn’t have to worry about that part, come to think of it, but I press on. “You have to be able to use any weapon against any other one, especially in close combat. There’s this game we used to play at the Academy, called chance.”

Katniss’s face darkens. “The Academy?”

“Oh, it’s not like we lived there,” I backpedal. “It’s not that kind of academy. Every three months, all the candidates came to town for a week for some instruction at the program headquarters, and they called that the Academy. The rest of the year, we worked with our regional training directors and any other candidates from the same village.”

Her eyes drop and she bites her lip. “Clove?”

“Yeah, Marcus and Clove,” I confirm. “They were the only ones left when I dropped out. We all trained with Jasper.”

“That’s your regional guy?”

“Mm hm.” My eyes jump away, and I shake the dice in my loose fist. “The point of this game is resourcefulness,” I deliberately digress. “Each number on the cube represents a different weapon, and whichever one you roll, that’s the weapon you have at your disposal. So, for instance…” I hand her a die and motion for her to toss. It comes up as a three, while I roll a six. “You’d get the battle axe, and I’d get no weapon.”

Her brow scrunches. “If you get no weapon, wouldn’t you just run?”

“Depends on what the other person gets,” I point out. “I wouldn’t run if you had a bow, or knives or any other range weapon I know you can handle. I’d try to disarm you instead.” I take half a step toward her and add, “Getting in close is the hard part, and I wouldn’t waste it.”

“Right,” she nods uneasily. “Got it.”

After mulling this over for a second, I add, “Actually, against you, I’d probably never run. You’d always catch me.”

“Even carrying the battle axe?”

“Maybe,” I muse. “It’s not that heavy. And you’re the fastest sprinter I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyebrows jump. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” I profess wholeheartedly. “By far. I was one of the fastest candidates, and you left me in your dust in that hailstorm.”

Katniss tucks her chin into her collar as she fights off a blush. “So what other weapons are we working with?”

“Well, with our limited arsenal, the conditions are gonna have to be...” I count them off on my fingers. “Bow and arrows, hatchets, battle axe, throwing knives, spear, barehanded.”

“And what are we using for throwing knives? Twigs?” she sasses me, eyeing the makeshift spear. I grin and unzip my jacket to reveal the belt of knives sitting on my hips. “Holy shit!” she gapes, awestruck. “Why did you never show me these before?”

“I thought it would look suspicious if I had more diverse weaponry,” I admit. “Or maybe seem like I had them because I was hung up on Clove.” I shrug and bounce my eyes away. “But now you know I was a candidate, so it’s a moot point.”

Katniss suddenly reaches for my waistband, and I tense up for half a second before she plucks a weapon from my belt. She runs her finger along the edge of the plastic sheath covering the lower two-thirds of the blade. “Are these to keep them sharp?”

“Partially. And partially for safety purposes when we spar.”

She squints warily. “We’re actually going to throw these at each other?”

“Just don’t aim for the eyes,” I smirk. Squatting down to rummage through my duffel bag, I locate a small drawstring sack and toss it to Katniss. “And these are for the axes,” I explain as she extracts and examines one of the soft rubber blade covers. “They’ll still provide an impact, but not a lethal one.”

“And what about my arrows?” she asks with a quirked eyebrow.

My answer is completely deadpan. “Well, I guess we both have to trust that neither of us wants to kill the other.” She stares blankly, and I break into a smile, whipping out a zipper bag full of small styrofoam cones I cut from some packing materials salvaged from our waste site. “I’m kidding. I thought of that.” Getting to my feet, I draw an arrow from her quiver and push it into one of them, smiling with satisfaction as it squeaks and gives way to fit the weapon snugly. When I hand the ensemble back to Katniss, she turns it over in her hands with a frown.

“They’ll fly funny now.”

“Same as the spear, it’s not like you’ll be shooting it any distance, if at all. You’ll probably still hit your target.” I’m honestly more than a little nervous at the thought of being that target, but I don’t have any of the safety arrows we’d use for combat exercises at headquarters, and she needs to practice this with her preferred weapon.

“I guess we can try it,” she shrugs. She picks up the large axe and fishes for its covers in the bag. Meanwhile, I scoop up both dice, roll them again, and come up with five.

“So we start five yards apart.”

“The game’s aptly named,” Katniss comments dryly.

“You have no idea,” I emphasize. “There are more advanced versions where you roll for allies and additional weapons.”

“Shit,” she remarks with an eyebrow twitch.

“Lucky for you, it’s just us,” I smirk, closing in on her. She stands her ground, but when I stop mere inches away, she gulps and her eyes drop to my lips. She forces them back up, only to see my smuggest smirk. I hold it until her cheeks flare up with indignation, or maybe just embarrassment, then pivot on my heel and take six paces. Still grinning, I whip around and beckon her with my hand.

“Come on, fight me, Everdeen.” 

It’s almost unfair, Katniss squaring off against me with one of her weaker weapons. Even if I am barehanded. I play the game patiently, teasing and frustrating her by coming just into striking range and popping back out when I see her muscles tense. Her eyes totally telegraph her moves, too. She never even gets close to touching me, and it takes its toll mentally. Within thirty seconds, she takes a wild swing that I easily dodge, leaving herself off balance and exposed. I hop up and land one foot on the shaft of the axe and drive the other into her chest with moderate force, causing her to drop it and stumble back but stay within arm’s reach. Grappling her jacket, I hook a heel around to sweep her legs out from under her, and as soon as we hit the ground, I’ve got my hands wrapped around her neck.

“Jeez, I even told you I’d be aiming to disarm you,” I taunt her, standing up and brushing my hands on my pants. “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.” I add insult to injury by reaching down to help her up, but she swats my hand away and pushes herself to her feet before pointedly spiking her hunting jacket on the ground, removing that advantage. As though it will help her.

“Are you planning to help me improve?” she demands. “Or are you just doing this to embarrass me?”

“Sometimes getting your ass kicked is the best way to figure out how not to get your ass kicked,” I impart. “Embarrassing you is just a pleasant byproduct.” If looks could kill. I pick up the axe and toss it back in the pile. “Do you see what I mean now about losing your center?”

“Yes,” she admits begrudgingly.

“Good. A lot of these lessons are best learned practically. Knowing how to use a weapon is useless if you can't wield it successfully in combat.”

I roll a four, and she rolls a two. We set up eleven yards apart, and Katniss doesn’t rush this time. Neither do I. We slowly circle each other, both with an arm cocked and ready to loose a weapon at any instant. Her eyes are intently focused, even as she inches back just a touch. I feel a smirk crawling onto my face until I detect her rotating the axe in her offensive hand to set up the one and a half turn throw I showed her during our excessively long session last Sunday. She smartly keeps her left hatchet out to deflect any incoming blades, but I release a handful of knives at her torso in quick succession just as she’s a touch distracted with settling her grip. She manages to deflect a couple of them, but she’s not revelling in her small victories.

“You’re ‘okay with knives’?” Katniss snarks, rubbing a sore spot between two of her ribs. “Really?”

“I suck compared to Clove,” I shrug. “Everyone does.”

“Then I’d say she must be a master backstabber,” she mutters sourly. “Except I know that already.”

Ouch. I purse my lips but try to display no emotion otherwise, merely tilting my head as I prowl a little closer. “I didn’t backstab you, brainless. I didn’t lie to you, or even mislead you. Everyone has their secrets they don’t wish to disclose.” Suddenly, I grin. “It’s not like you were ever going to tell me you’re afraid of blood and gore, for instance.”

“What? I am not!” she objects. “Who told you that?”

“Buttercup,” I smirk. “He said when bad patients come to see your mom, you run away like a little sissy.”

Katniss folds her arms and huffs, “I’ll have you know, the reason I leave is because I can’t help them. I’m not good at that stuff, not like Prim and Mom.”

After taking a moment to digest and interpret this, I conclude, “So you can’t stand witnessing pain and suffering and feeling powerless to help.” Katniss blinks down and away. “So you _do_ have feelings,” I tease her. Then her eyes come back, with some fire.

“I can’t stand feeling powerless, period.”

“Mm,” I grunt. “The reaping must be a killer.”

Suddenly, her face is blank but hard. “Is that supposed to be funny?” she growls, slowly stalking forward.

“No,” I assure her genuinely. “I’m serious.” This doesn’t help.

“Well, here we don’t have people lining up to take our spot for the _honor and glory_ of competing in a child murdering competition for the Capitol’s amusement,” she harangues scathingly. “Unfortunately for me, no one here is brainwashed by their bullshit.”

And there she goes. What she doesn’t know is that I came here more than ready to be insulted. The opportunity to inject some emotion into our sessions was one of the reasons I decided to introduce a sparring drill. If Katniss gets angry, at least she's not icy. I’ve known since day one that pissing her off is the best way to crack her.

“You’ve made your point, Everdeen.”

“Have I?” In a flash, her axes are back up in a combative position. I brace myself warily, holding just one large knife in my left hand. I have more in my belt, but if I reach for them then Katniss will take advantage. She’s certainly expecting me to let her strike first and then counterattack, so I try catching her off guard. I purposely twitch my right hand, and when that draws her attention I bring my other fist down against hers, cracking the butt end of the knife into her knuckles and forcing her to drop the axe.

“Ouch!” she yelps, shaking her hand out and glaring angrily. I cock an eyebrow and she cocks her fist. Before I can blink, she’s smashed it into my cheekbone with bruising force, also catching a piece of my nose. I’m so shocked, I’m in no mindset to curb the reflexive grab for my nose. My hands aren’t even there before Katniss is slicing me backhanded across the stomach with her remaining axe.

I moan and peek past my fingers to Katniss shaking her hand out again, looking equal parts smug and pissed off. “No fair,” I grumble. “We hadn’t reset.”

Katniss cackles in a way that reminds me far too much of myself. “There are no rules in the Hunger Games, brainless,” she retorts. “Better watch who you let your guard down against.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” I challenge her, raising an eyebrow as I mock her words. Katniss appears to take a moment to mull this over, though her sarcastic tone when she lets the answer fly informs me that it was only for effect.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.”

I’m not sure she realizes that she’s even more cutting and mean to me than I am to her. I guess she has to be, to get any reaction out of me and feel she’s made a dent. I don’t give her the satisfaction.

We spar on and off for hours. I give her some instruction with the spear and the specialty knives to even the playing field a bit, but I still win most of the matchups. But more importantly, they last longer and Katniss grows more patient and settled. She still loses, but due to a lack of technical expertise rather the lack of a cool head. That, I can work with.

It’s past 7 PM by the time twilight forces us to pack up. I’m in the process of removing the safety covers from my hatchets when I catch Katniss drawing an arrow and reaching for the foam cap. I realize then that they may very well not stay on when punctured a second time, so I change my mind. I didn’t cut many extras. “Leave it,” I tell her. “We’ll work on this again tomorrow before your hunt. No rest for the weary.”

“So much for practice days,” she grumbles.

“You can’t practice this on your own,” I point out. “And who would you get to partner with you other than me? Maybe Gale would like to learn some of this stuff, but you’d never admit to him that you’re training for the Hunger Games or that you’re spending all this time with me, now would you?”

“It’s not like I prefer your company to Gale’s, you know,” she snarks, eyes narrowed peevishly. That might hurt my feelings, or at least my pride, if I didn’t know she was lying. “You’re just useful in a way he isn’t.”

“And vice-versa,” I remind her.

“I can hunt just fine on my own.”

One corner of my mouth drags up. “But you need me for this.”

Katniss scoffs and edges closer, deliberately straightening up. She pointedly looks down on me and sneers, “I don’t need you for anything.”

She turns and starts to march back to the district, but I’m not about to let her get away with walking away from me like this, not again. I glare at her back, then pick a target just beyond her and wait for the perfect instant. Just as she’s about to cross in front of it, I release the axe in my right hand. It whizzes right past her head, splitting the bark of the tree with a loud crack. She slowly turns, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Are you sure about that?” I challenge her haughtily. But her open mouth produces no words as she eyes up the unlucky tree and its assailant in succession. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I drawl, running my thumb over the significantly dulled edge of the other hatchet with a predatory smirk. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

Katniss shakes the sense back into her head, then retraces her steps menacingly. “Are you actually completely fucking insane?”

Refusing to back up an inch, I grin, “You’ve been hanging out with me too much. What does your mom think of all your cursing?”

“I don’t do it around the house,” she retorts.

“Oh, really?” I waggle my eyebrows and press, “Not even when you’re thinking happy thoughts?”

Her brow scrunches. “What do you mean, ‘happy thoughts’? And why would I be swearing?” God, her naivety is so precious, I almost laugh. Maybe that was too presumptuous of me. One way to find out.

“Hmm, swearing, or maybe moaning or gasping,” I ruminate. “Under your breath, of course. So as not to wake Prim.” Katniss’s jaw slackens and her eyes glaze over helplessly while her face flares up to an unnatural shade of beetroot. So that answers that question. I wonder if she’s ever thought of me during such activities. That thought only inflates my already pompous smirk.

“You… you are so-” she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp.

“So what?” I taunt her.

“So fucking infuriating!” She delivers a hard shove along with that last word. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because you don’t want me to,” is my frank answer, just before I grab the lapels of her jacket and tug her into my lips.

For a second, Katniss is too stunned to respond. Then her hands fist the back of my shirt and her tongue dives into my open mouth. She kisses me like she’s trying to draw life from me, all impassioned groans and bitten lips and nails down my back. And do I ever love it. Pulling myself impossibly closer, I move one of my hands to her jaw, trailing my fingers over the defined bone as we gasp for air between kisses.

When my fingertips finally slip off her chin, I deliberately pull back, keeping my hand braced on her chest to break us apart. Her eyelids squeak open and she stares back at me through a daze. I couldn’t help my smug smile even if I wanted to. I yank her toward me for one final, exclamatory peck on those parted lips. “See you tomorrow, Everdeen.”

This time, it’s me who walks away.

***

My black eye gets quite a few looks at the briefing the next morning, and unfortunately, many of them end up redirected across the room at Darius. It’s ridiculous, really. Darius probably couldn’t land a punch on me even if he tried. There are some grumbles of dissent when Purnia assigns us to the deep Seam together, but she silences them with her evil eye. Not that she’d ever believe Darius would take a swing at me anyway, I’m sure she knows exactly who my assailant was. And that I probably deserved it.

I’m not thrilled with the assignment either, but for my own reasons. Purnia has been kind enough to not put us alone together on any posts since the breakup, until now. Maybe she thinks it’s time we talked things out, or time I got my shit together and faced the situation, like she said. I’m not sure I’m ready to do either.

The truck ride to our post is quiet, which isn’t abnormal for us. I’ve never been one for talking in the early morning, and Darius figured that out back in November. But as the day drags on, the lack of meaningful speech becomes more and more uncomfortable. Because it’s not like we have nothing to say to each other. Quite the contrary, I’m sure. It’s not until we’re sitting on the roof of the hummer, legs dangling off the side as we eat our cans of vegetables and something vaguely resembling beef, that Darius finally says something work unrelated.

“So are you going to tell me how you got that shiner?” he ventures casually. I gaze at him distrustfully, and he tries another angle. “Everyone suspects me. Least you could do is give me an explanation to pass on.”

My reply is cool but decisive. “Anyone who thinks you’d hit me doesn’t know you very well.”

“People do crazy things over broken hearts,” he muses wistfully. “Like running away and joining the Peacekeepers.” When I turn my head to glare at him, I catch the hint of a teasing smile on his lips. I bite my lips to restrain them from returning the gesture and gaze back out into the forest bordering the northern reaches of the district.

“Is that why you joined?” I ask a while later. “Some girl decided you sucked in the sack and dumped you, and you ran away?”

He squints inquisitively. “What makes you think that?”

“You always seemed afraid you weren’t good enough for me,” is my blunt answer.

“Not in bed,” he rebuts immediately. “I know I’m talented, I told you that within a week of meeting you. It’s actually my best quality.” Setting his jaw, he stabs at the contents of his can. “That’s the problem.”

“You’re crazy if you really think that,” I argue. “Darius, there are so many things to love about you.”

He pauses with his fork at his lips long enough to remark, “That’s very convincing, coming from you.” Even I can’t craft a snappy comeback to that, so I just twitch my eyebrows and go back to eating. We’re both nearly finished before he breaks the silence again. “Anyway, I know the sex wasn’t the problem. Not if you preferred a teenage virgin over me.” He takes a pointed look at my eye and tacks on, “She must be stronger than she looks.”

“Why do you assume this was Katniss?” I demand.

“Who else do you like pushing to the brink?”

“Everyone,” I reply frankly. Darius chuckles and faces forward again. He picks the last bits of food out of his can, then lobs the empty vessel into someone’s open trash bin at the edge of the dirt road. I quirk an impressed eyebrow. “See?” He looks at me quizzically and I crack, “You are good at something.”

“I think we’ve established that I can find a hole. Hell, even blindfolded.” His tone is deadpan, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that I’ve missed. I shake my head with mock disgust and look away in hopes of hiding my blush.

A moment of deliberation later, I admit, “It was Katniss. The bruise.”

Darius nods, clearly unsurprised. “You had a fight?” I nod back, and he smirks. “I’d hate to see what she looks like.”

“That’s not how I got hurt,” I clarify. “It wasn’t that kind of a fight.” His confused blinking bids an explanation, but I don’t want anyone knowing about our little arrangement, much less a Peacekeeper. Any Peacekeeper. So I subtly change the subject. “She figured out that I’d trained for the Games. Since then, it’s been rocky.”

“Wow. No shit.” His mouth is about as wide as his bulging eyes. “I’m surprised she’s still talking to you at all.”

“Me too,” I concur. Some fights cause rifts so big, you can’t come back from them. I stew on that awhile, staring into my can. A movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I observe surreptitiously as my partner slouches forward, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his dangling feet sway the slightest bit. I study the way the late morning sun brings out the fire in his shaggy red mane, the way the hint of a breeze ruffles it just enough to give my fingers the impulse to run through it affectionately. My eyes wander over the smattering of faint freckles, the fuzz under his jaw, his soulful espresso eyes. I wasn’t avoiding him, like Purnia thought. I just didn’t know how to approach him.

“Are we ever gonna be friends again?” I finally squeak.

Darius blinks over in surprise, then out to the forest just as quickly. “We are friends,” he declares quietly. “I just need some time.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Darius.” His eyes are called back by the unfamiliar words. The ease with which they come out surprises me as much as him, though I don’t let it show. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“And it wasn’t my intention to be a jealous prick,” he shrugs sheepishly. “Things don’t always work out the way we plan.”

I’m trying to think of a good response when Purnia’s voice interrupts us. “CO to Patrol Four. Do you copy?”

Darius retrieves the walkie from his belt and replies, “Captain Stark, this is Hallett. We copy.”

“Is Mason on radio?”

I clear my throat and bring my radio to my lips. “Loud and clear, Stark.”

“Switch to Frequency B, please.”

Darius’s curious eyes mirror mine as I adjust my frequency dial with a furrowed brow. “What’s up, Purnia?”

“Hey, Johanna,” her voice crackles. I rotate the dial another hair to clear it up. “Commander Cray has requested to meet with you this afternoon.” My stomach constricts and I roll my eyes. I avoid interacting with Cray as much as possible anyway, but I have a date at about three o’clock. “Should I tell him to expect you at shift change, or after you’ve had a chance to disrobe?”

I snort into the walkie. “He’d like that, wouldn’t he?”

“Mason!” she barks.

“Okay.”

“This is not a secure frequency,” she scolds me. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay, okay,” I repeat. Maybe I should take Katniss’s advice and learn to shut the fuck up. I sneak a glance at Darius, who’s chuckling to himself. I take a moment to think before answering her question. Since I want to drop my armor off before sparring, I have a lot of ground to cover, so I should spare myself as much walking time as possible. Ride home with Darius, meet with Cray on the way back north, pop back into the woods via the Seam or the other weak spot Katniss showed me near the mayor’s house. “Tell him I’ll come after I gear down.”

“All right,” Purnia replies. “I’ll let him know.”

Darius shakes his head as I hook the radio back on my belt. “As mouthy as day one,” he observes. “You’re never gonna change, are you?” That’s far too general a statement. I smile wistfully and gaze out into the woods.

“I already have.”

***

A few hours later, I’m rapping on the Head Peacekeeper’s door and trying to quell the nervous churning in my gut. This place has been far from kind to me.

“It’s open!” I hear Cray call from inside. I push through the door and peek into his office, where he’s reviewing a stack of papers. I take my time inching closer, and he finally looks up. “Don’t be shy, Mason.” He waves me into the office, and I enter hesitantly. “How have you been?”

I shove my hands in my pockets and mutter, “Fine, sir.” He continues to stare, unconvinced. My black eye must not be very persuasive. I straighten my shoulders. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He motions at the chair across from him. “Have a seat.” Once I’ve done so, he reveals, “I’ve been hearing a lot of reports recently of you being seen in the company of Katniss Everdeen.”

My stomach basically falls out my butt, but I try not to let it show. My mouth twists sourly and I retort, “I thought you said I was free to do as I please.”

“I did,” he smiles. “You’re not in trouble, Johanna.” Maybe I’m not, but his expression is still unsettling, and I find myself biting my lip. I have a feeling I know what this is about. It’s confirmed when he adds, “I’m curious as to whether you’ve noticed anything problematic during your time with her.”

“Problematic?” I ask too innocently. “You mean like is she crafting enough bows to arm the whole district and forging a plot to burn down the Justice Building?”

Cray smirks. “Perhaps not so extreme. But along those lines, yes.” I cock my head and an eyebrow, and his expression darkens slightly. “Agent Mason, I’m not sure you understand the fragility of our situation here.”

“Fragility?” Both eyebrows shoot up now. “Sir, we have eighty Peacekeepers with guns at the ready in this district. How much damage could one disgruntled teenager do?”

“It’s far from just one disgruntled teenager,” he warns me. “We have eighty Peacekeepers, but they have eight thousand residents. Discontentment is common in the district, as you would expect. Most people are not brave or stupid enough to act on it alone, but all it takes is one galvanizing event or hero, and you can have a riot on your hands. Or worse.” I must still look unconvinced, because he rubs his brow with a hint of exasperation.

“Look, Mason,” he sighs. “My parents were both survivors of the last war. They were young, but they remembered far too much about it. Both lost siblings in bombings by the Capitol, and my mother lost her hearing in one ear.” He catches my eye intently. “Trust me, it is best for everyone that we diffuse any unrest before it boils over and turns to uncontrolled violence. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to have to shoot anyone.”

“Me neither, sir,” I agree.

“Good,” he nods decisively. “Then I hope you understand that I will take any measures necessary to keep the peace around here. Thankfully, life in this district seems to take the fight out of most people, and any pointed deterrent to dissent is rarely necessary.”

I raise my eyebrows. “And that’s supposed to encourage me to inform on my g- on my friends?”

“No, Mason,” he condescends. “Your job is what compels you to inform on any troublesome civilians, no matter their relation to you. You’re a Peacekeeper. Help me keep the peace.” He picks up his pen and eyes me expectantly. “Now, do you have anything relevant to report?”

“No,” I reply honestly. “I haven’t heard anything of concern out of Miss Everdeen.”

“Nothing inflammatory?” he presses.

“No,” I lie, just as convincingly.

“And her boyfriend?”

“He’s not her boyfriend,” I snap. I have a feeling he said that just to piss me off. “I haven’t spent much time with Gale. He’s not fond of me.”

“I don’t imagine so,” Cray muses, barely holding back another smirk. “Perhaps you should make an effort to increase your contact with him.”

“Why don’t you just ask Darius to spy on him?” I demand. “They get along better.”

“Do what you can,” he insists. “All I ask is that you keep your eyes open.” That’s clearly not all he’s asking for, but I just nod. Shutting the fuck up is probably in my best interests right now.

I’m delayed awhile longer when Cray digresses into a spiel about reporting procedures for if I ever feel unsafe in the barracks or with any of my comrades. I can’t very well tell him I got my black eye from Katniss rather than a fellow Peacekeeper, not after the conversation we just had, so I nod in all the right places and respond with as receptive comments as possible so I can get the hell out of there.

I arrive at our newest spot to find Katniss has beaten me there again. She’s already got our arsenal laid out and is pacing around and chewing on her nails when I arrive.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say in response to her hint of a dirty look. “I got called in to meet with Cray.” Her expression immediately morphs into one of concern. That’s a good sign.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, approaching me unsteadily.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I assure her with a dismissive wave.

“You’re lying,” she observes, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I’m not,” I insist. “I just hate him.”

“Because he hit on you?”

“No, because he hit on _you_.” I counter. “And he hit you.” Among other reasons, of course.

“Oh, that,” she mumbles.

“What?” I grill her. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Katniss shrugs. “He’s a Peacekeeper,” she rationalizes blandly, almost nonchalantly, like this somehow excuses his behavior or, worse, makes it a foregone conclusion. She must catch the puckering of my lips, because she adds a cursory, “No offense.”

I cross my arms and scoff. “Oh, right. Because it’s always the Peacekeepers hitting the locals unbidden around here,” I retort pointedly. “Never the other way around.”

“We were sparring,” she rejoins weakly, but she can’t even look me in the eye as she says it. We both know she punched me out of anger, not strategy. And judging from her several surreptitious peeks at my shiner already, she’s at least vaguely ashamed of her behavior yesterday. But so am I, to be fair, so I don’t press the issue.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” she mumbles a moment later, kicking at a nearby pebble. We both watch as it skitters away, settles in a clump of grass. I’m too scared to ask. But I need to. There’s already so much ambiguity between us given the events of the past week and a half.

“Maybe what was?” I hazard.

Katniss puffs out a sharp sigh and stuffs her fists in her pockets. When she looks up this time, she holds my gaze. Guiltily. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for us. I just really wanted your help.”

“‘Us’?” I echo, eyebrows as high as my precarious hopes have suddenly shot. “So there’s still an ‘us’?”

Katniss blinks away and ignores that second question. “Every month, when I pick up my grain and oil at the Justice Building, I freak out a little when I think of what it cost me,” she confesses. Then she snorts under her breath and twitches her mouth wryly. “Not that I’d ever let anyone notice.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” I assure her gently, stepping just a touch closer.

“You don’t get it,” she insists, clearly agitated by this perceived divide. “You never had to worry about being picked when you didn’t want to. No one does in Two, by the sounds of it. Even if they didn’t volunteer, they’re always gung ho.” She sweeps a hand around. “Here, we all have nightmares about it. And it doesn’t stop once you’re out of the bowl, either, because what if one of your kids gets picked?”

“Or what if your lover gets picked?” I contribute. Katniss nods at that addition, but it takes a couple seconds before she catches my deeper meaning. Her head suddenly jerks up, eyes locking on me. I nod to confirm the implication. “You’re right, I’ve never been scared of the reaping before. But I am now.” Mirroring her pregnant stare, I remind her, “I told you, if you died…”

Katniss’s hands flex and coil in her jacket pockets and she swallows. Her voice verges on cracking as she forces out a feeble, “Yeah.” Her eyes immediately flick away in embarrassment, and I think I feel my heart cracking open inside my chest. She starts to brush by me to access the stash of weapons, still avoiding my gaze, but I hook a couple of fingers into her waistband, jerking her to a stop. She turns her head questioningly.

“Hey, come here,” I instruct her softly, tugging her into me. I halfway expect her to resist, but she does just the opposite, eagerly wrapping her arms around my shoulders as mine slip around her waist. She clutches me fiercely while she quiets her breaths, soaking in my warmth and steadiness. There’s a slight shudder of emotion there, but I don’t mention it for fear of ending the moment. I don’t think we’ve ever really hugged before, unless you count the supposedly accidental cuddle in my bed that she immediately ended upon consciousness. It’s always been kisses driving our contact. Not that I ever would have been averse to holding Katniss, but she prides herself on her independence as much as I do. Emotionally, even more so.

It must be a couple minutes before either of us moves. It’s Katniss, pulling back a smidge and grazing her cheek past my temple. She dips her chin and kisses my bruised cheekbone with featherlight pressure. My eyelids flutter shut and she leaves one there as well. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. So faintly, I wonder if I imagined it. I choose to illustrate my forgiveness with actions. Katniss responds better to those than words, anyway. So I tilt my head up and crane to reach her lips. But not like yesterday. I give her the second of movement to think about it, pause a half-inch away. She takes the offer with only the slightest hesitation, meeting me in the softest kiss we’ve shared yet. I respond in kind to her barely moving lips, just relishing the warmth of her breath, reveling in a feeling I feared I’d lost forever.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” I confess against her lips. They curl into a smirk.

“About this?”

“About everything,” I whisper, staring helplessly into those gray eyes that seem to steal my very sanity. They close, and her forehead tilts down to rest against mine.

“Me too,” she admits. Sighing contentedly, I bury my face in her neck, feel her slender but strong arms encircle my shoulders once again. So what do you know? The ice queen was right. It was indeed more effective to get back into Katniss’s head than her good graces. Maybe I’ll thank her for the advice some day.

“You’re my biggest weakness, Johanna.” That confession yanks me back into the moment, and I lift my head to stare up at Katniss with huge eyes. “And I don’t want to work on it. I’ve tried.”

“Me too,” I rasp. “I’ve tried really hard.” My fingers grasp her signature jacket while I try to swallow down that break in my voice. “But you’ve been my weakness since the moment I met you.”

Her brow crinkles. “Why did you push me away, then?” she queries. “Were you afraid you’d get in trouble?”

“No, probably not. With Cray in charge, obviously all those rules are out the window.” Well, that may not be entirely true. Today I got the distinct impression that those bent rules come with certain stipulations. Though, following rules has never been my forte. I gnaw on my lip for a moment as a debate roars up in my mind. Remembering Katniss’s outburst on Thursday is what tips the scale. No more secrets.

“I need to tell you something,” I blurt before I can chicken out. Already trembling with apprehension, I have to relinquish my hold on her. Katniss lifts her eyebrows receptively and I forge on. “You don’t want me keeping things from you, even if they’re unpleasant, right?”

“Yes,” she agrees without hesitation.

“Well, first of all, Cray encouraged me to get involved with you.” Her eyes start to narrow into slits, and I interject, “That’s not why I did. It made me want to even less, actually.”

“Why would he want that?” she asks, pure bewilderment in her voice and face.

“Because he sees you as a threat,” comes my warning. “You and Gale. He wanted me to keep tabs on you, give him inside information. That’s why he called me in, actually. He knows we’ve been hanging out, and he wanted to know if there was anything to worry about.”

Her whole face goes lax. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him no, there’s nothing to worry about,” I assure her, curling my fingers around her forearm. With an unwavering gaze, I promise, “I wouldn’t tell him, even if there was.”

“So you didn’t tell him what I said about the Games,” she deduces with relief.

“Of course not, brainless,” I scoff, ignoring her subsequent dirty look. “His goal is to deter dissent. You think I want to see him make an example of you in front of the whole district?” It’s true that Cray is not a fan of violence, but after what he said today, I don’t doubt one bit that he would resort to a public flogging or beating to get a point across.

Katniss doesn’t bother answering that. Or maybe she’s finally picking up on which of my questions are simply for effect. But after a moment of curious peering, she mentions, “You said first of all.”

“Yeah.” I exhale forcefully, hoping to expel the sudden tension in my stomach. It doesn’t work. Easing my fingers down to take her hand, I nod toward a nearby log. “Let’s sit down.”

Worry clouds her expression as I slowly lead us over and take an uneasy seat on the mossy bark. “Are you okay?” My eyes drop to the ground and she squeezes my hand. “Hanna?”

“Sorry,” I breathe. “This is just hard for me to talk about.” She nods and strokes her thumb over the back of my hand, but stays quiet until I get up the nerve to blurt, “Clove blackmailed me with statutory rape charges.” Katniss’s thumb stills and I look her way in a panic. Her expression is unreadable. “I turned eighteen last summer and I just didn’t even think of… I mean, the thought crossed my mind – that it was illegal, I mean – but we’d been together for a long time and I figured it didn’t matter. And I never thought she would–” My voice catches and I abort my desperate ramble. My ears flare up while I wait on any sort of reaction. My knee starts to shiver, and despite my best efforts, I can’t force it to still.

“So she slept with you after you came of age, got some kind of proof, and threatened to rat you out if you didn’t withdraw from the program?” Katniss gathers tonelessly, after a long moment.

I gulp and nod brusquely. “Exactly.”

She bobs her head slowly and looks off into the distance. “Wow.”

“Wow?” I probe, ducking my head into her line of sight.

She flicks her eyes back. “Sorry. I was just calculating my chances of surviving an arena long enough to murder her.”

I start to laugh, but her expression doesn’t crack and I realize that she may very well be serious. “I appreciate the sentiment,” I placate her, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s over. And as much as I complain about losing my job, about being sent here… if she hadn’t done that, I’d never have met you.”

Everdeen’s lips tighten with the beginnings of a smile, but her eyes still house a shadow of doubt. “Am I really worth losing your dreams?”

She really has no idea, does she? Katniss Everdeen is worth the world to me. I don’t know how this happened, and it scares me, but not as much as I know it should. I adjust my hand to lace our fingers together. “Maybe my dreams were a little fucked up,” I admit. “Maybe they’ve changed.”

Those charcoal eyes ignite with emotion, and Katniss immediately cups her free hand around my jaw and leans in to kiss me. I gladly reciprocate with the passion we both withheld only minutes ago, tempered by waves of relief that cause me to shudder, but in a good way this time. It feels so good to have all that out there. To know that she’s not going to up and leave me the next time I reveal the wrong thing. To know that she truly does like me for who I am. All of it.

Eventually, I have to pull back to release a big sigh of said relief. Or maybe it’s just happiness. Katniss doesn’t move at all, though. She stares at me, or maybe through me, for a long moment.

“So that’s why you wanted to go slow,” she surmises. “You didn’t want to break the law again.” The law itself isn’t really the point, but that’s accurate enough, so I give her a small nod. “You know, Johanna, no one cares about that here.”

“I do,” I interject, more forcefully than either of us expected. Cracking my neck provides a good excuse to turn away from her surprised face. “Even in Two, it’s not necessarily a big deal,” I begin, shakily regaining eye contact. “Given the nature of our relationship, I might have gotten away with a slap on the wrist, and I knew it. But I went to Jasper for advice, and he told me the selection committee would hold it against me even if I got off easy, because there was proof I was guilty. And he told me I had no one to blame but myself.” My eyes find my free hand that’s fidgeting in my lap. “I thought a lot about that.”

“It’s totally fair to blame Clove,” Katniss argues. “That’s awful, what she did to you.”

I shake my head. “I did it to myself. And what I did to her, that was actually against the law.”

“Extortion is against the law,” she reminds me. “And laws or not, you have the moral high ground.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply pensively. Catching her questioning gaze, I explain, “There’s a responsibility that comes with adulthood. But I’m not known for being responsible.”

Katniss’s eyes take on that faraway look again as she mulls over some memories, or maybe puts some pieces together. Finally, she says, “And here I thought you weren’t pushing me because you had Darius to fall back on.” When she catches my eye, hers are full of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a reasonable assumption,” I validate her immediately. “If anything, I’m sorry it made you feel like I didn’t want you. I do.” A corner of her mouth creeps up, and I instantly blush and backpedal, “I mean, not that way. Or yes, that way, but not yet.”

“My birthday is May eighth,” she reveals bluntly. My eyes flicker in surprise, and she clarifies, “I’m not saying I’ll be ready for anything like that by then, but…”

I cut off that train of thought with a kiss. “It’s okay, Everdeen. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Problem is, I kind of like it when you do,” she admits. “Sometimes I need that extra push to figure out what I want. Or to take it.”

I rest my forehead against hers and promise, “In time, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank D7P for her helpful beta, as always. I appreciate everything you do. I hope you know that. I think everyone could agree that my writing is much improved with your help. (I am a brat.)


	10. Mine

“Come on, push it!”

Katniss casts me a sidelong glare as she runs, if you can call it that, to her next obstacle. After crawling under the sizeable fallen log, she clambers back over it and heads for the tree that marks the end of the course.

“Hustle up, Everdeen!” I holler, my patience wearing thin. “You’re gonna go faster than that with six Careers biting at your heels!”

She drops her head and powers through the last few seconds of the final sprint, then scales the first eight feet of the tree and slithers onto the lowest branch. Latching her arms around it, she eases her body over the edge until she’s hanging only from her hands, then pulls herself up until the branch is in the crook of her shoulder. Her shaking arms manage this twice before giving out on the third attempt, forcing her to drop to the ground. Her heavy panting as she turns to me for direction, or maybe mercy, finally makes me ease up.

“Okay, okay,” I relent. “That’s close enough. Rest a couple minutes.”

A huge sigh of relief passes her lips and she doubles over, hands on her knees. Her jelly arms do little to support her, though, so she straightens back up within seconds, still gasping for air. “You’re killing me, Mason.” I hand her a canteen of water and she takes a grateful swig. As she passes it back, she pants, “You didn’t actually do this, did you?”

“What,” I scoff, “did you think we just played around with weapons all day?” Her expression informs me that that’s exactly what she thought. To be fair, we’ve been training together for three weeks now, and we’d only ever worked with weapons until I started pushing her physical fitness last session. “No, most of us worked out, took lessons on stuff other than combat. How to make shelter, start fires, track prey.” At that last one, Katniss catches my eyes sharply, forcing them away. Shifting awkwardly, I mumble, “General survival skills.”

“Jeez, and on top of that you were training with a bunch of different weapons? And going to school?” Well, barely. But it’s technically true, so I nod. Her eyes narrow curiously. “You worked really hard at this, didn’t you?”

“That’s why I was the best.” My proud smile slips a little. “And why my fall from grace sent me spiralling. It was my life.”

A moment of quiet observation later, she asks, “What’s it like? Being down like that?”

“Like when you’re sick with it? Like your mom?” She nods, and I uneasily cross my arms over my stomach. “It’s not always the same. Sometimes it was blinding anger or sadness. Sometimes it was nothing. That’s even worse.”

“Nothing?” When I nod, she gives her head a little shake. “I don’t understand.”

“Pray that you never do,” is my solemn advice. But this doesn’t seem to placate her.

“Well, how did you get out of it?” she probes.

I sigh, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Time?” Even that’s not really the answer. “Finding some purpose in my life again, another reason to be happy? That was part of why I decided to be a Peacekeeper. To do something for myself, get some control back over my situation. It was also a good distraction from Clove and that whole mess.”

Katniss toes the ground and contributes, “I’ve seen my mother bring people back, using some of her herbs.”

“Mm, I took some for a while too,” I reveal. “My parents were really worried about me and they took me into the city to see a head doctor, and he gave them to me.”

“That’s nice that they could afford that,” she mutters, ducking her head. “Travelling and seeing a real doctor.”

“Well, it must be nice living with a healer,” I retort sharply.

Her eyes flash back up now, widened with something resembling alarm. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she backpedals.

“Sure sounded like it,” I snap. Okay, it actually sounded ambiguous, but she has a history of hostility, particularly regarding our different upbringings. That tipped the scales.

“Well, I don’t always sound the way I mean to, okay?” Katniss finally has her breath back enough to raise her voice and show some emotion other than exhaustion. It’s frustration - I can see it in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the nails raking through her hair. I’ve seen it in her before, the frustration of being misunderstood. Usually, it’s cuter.

“Besides, my mother doesn’t give us anything she can’t afford to replace,” she digresses, deliberately shifting the subject back. “Lots of her remedies have a limited supply, anyway, so she has to triage and only give them to the worst cases. Not all of them are things I can easily gather, some of them are usually only accessible to doctors.”

A memory from months ago rears up in my mind, one of Gale saying Katniss’s family might not be able to afford their own remedies. Back when she was sick and I made that ill-advised joke about arresting him. I’d forgotten that part. Returning to the conversation, I pitch in, “Well your mom is the closest thing to a doctor any Seam person can afford, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Just about.” And here, I don’t know what to say. I’ve had the advantages of being able to afford some sort of medical treatment and the opportunity to start anew, and yet sometimes I feel like Mrs. Everdeen is more useful and put-together than I am. Maybe I should extend the same sympathy I feel for her to myself, but then again, I’ve always been hard on myself. Why wouldn’t I be? Everybody else was.

Refocusing on Katniss, I notice the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips are still parted to increase airflow. Of course. I don’t have to continue this conversation at all.

“Time’s up,” I tell her. I force a grin onto my face and land the inside of my foot on her rear end. “Story time’s over, slacker. Now get your butt moving.”

***

“What do you think for decorations?”

My brew pauses at my lips. “Hmm. Icicles.” Darius narrows his eyes playfully as I take a sip, and I shrug. “Not subtle enough? Okay, how about those cutout snowflake things?”

“Who the hell even has cutout snowflakes, Mason?” he sighs.

Besides my general mission in life to be irritating, I just may be goofing off to draw out this interaction. Talking and joking about things like we used to is good for us, I think, so I’m showing an interest in his current preoccupation. A couple of days ago, Darius came across some supposedly classified paperwork and inadvertently discovered that Purnia’s thirtieth birthday was less than a week away. Since then, he’s busied himself planning a surprise party for her and guilting our shiftmates into contributing money to the cause. Not that it’s a hard sell. Purnia’s a frigid bitch sometimes, but she’s popular among her subordinates.

“Okay, I’ll ask someone who’s less of a smartass for decorating ideas,” he relents, peering over my shoulder at our comrades deeper into the Hob. “As for food, I talked to Peeta, and he said he can do up a cake with waves and seashells and stuff on it. Because I know she misses the District Four scenery.”

My brow furrows at the unfamiliar name. “Wait, who’s Peeta?”

“One of the baker’s kids,” he replies. “The youngest. He decorates all the cakes.”

“Oh, okay.” Not that I care, but I pretend to. It’s not like I don’t appreciate Purnia, but I have a feeling she’s not going to be thrilled by a surprise party. And who knew Darius was such a housewife?

“I’m stuck on a gift, though,” he babbles. “If I’d known earlier, I would’ve ordered something out of Two. What can we get her here?”

“I dunno,” I shrug. “Laid?”

Darius guffaws, his eyes smiling in a way I’ve hardly seen at all in the past month. “Are you suggesting I do the honors, or are you volunteering as tribute?” He must pick up on the tension behind my waggling eyebrows, because he suddenly backtracks, “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I bluster, waving him off. “I’m over it.” It’s sort of a lie, but it’s truer than it used to be, anyway.

On the topic of things one of us may or may not be over, when I glance away I catch sight of Katniss and Gale bartering with Greasy Sae. Well, Gale bartering with her. Katniss already has her eyes on us when mine settle on her. She returns my smile shyly and starts to make her way over, much to Gale’s visible annoyance. Not that she notices.

Darius must know who’s behind him just from my expression, because his droops just a little. He turns around as the girl edges closer, and nods in greeting. “Katniss.”

“Darius.” Her eyes flick between us and she shoves her hands in her pockets. “What’s goin’ on, guys?”

“Planning a little shindig,” I answer. Darius urgently puts a finger to his lips, so I scoff, “What, who’s she gonna tell? Calm your tits.”

Darius rolls his eyes and addresses Katniss. “Jo’s being a loud-mouthed brat, that’s what’s going on.” He clears his throat with a tight smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have more shiftmates to survey.” With that, he’s scurrying off to the cluster of white uniforms.

Turning to Katniss, I find her face affected with uneasy guilt. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” I assure her immediately, figuring she’s still on edge from our little misunderstanding earlier. “I know.” And really, I do. If she’d been trying to guard what’s hers, she would have made some remark referring to me as Jo once Darius dropped the nickname. I understand how Katniss operates better than I’ll ever admit to her. People as withholding as her don’t like being figured out. I know, because I am one.

“So, who’s the party for?” she inquires, scratching her cheek as she blinks away.

“Purnia. Her thirtieth is just around the corner, and he’s been putting all his energy into it the past few days. Boy needs to get a life.”

“Or a girlfriend,” she jests immediately. I can’t help but snicker. She’s sounding more like me every day.

“Maybe.”

“Does he like her?”

“Purnia?” Shrugging as though the possibility doesn’t eat at my gut just a little, I muse, “Totally plausible, but she’d never go for it. She has a thing against sleeping with other Peacekeepers, let alone her subordinates.”

Katniss’s head whips around in surprise. “She’s your boss?” she gapes.

It’s a struggle not to laugh as I spell out, “Yeah, she’s one measly rank below Cray.” Sure, we’re all quite informal and friendly most of the time when we’re off-duty, but Purnia is a prototypical head bitch in charge, and it’s hard to miss. Then again, this is Katniss Brainless Everdeen, who’s about as observant as a sack of the potatoes she’s named for.

“Huh. I had no idea,” she admits. “I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

My lips waver with a smirk. “You don’t pay attention to much, do you?”

“And Darius said you were being a loud-mouthed brat like it’s a noteworthy occurrence,” she retorts dryly.

“Hey!” I bark, poking her in the ribs. “Shut up.”

Katniss’s expression turns playful and my mouth goes dry. Though I doubt she realizes it, she’s giving me full-on bedroom eyes. “Make me,” she goads me lowly. Narrowing my eyes, I level a teasing warning at her.

“Don’t tempt me, Everdeen.”

***

April showers, my ass. The heavens open in earnest mid-Saturday afternoon, after several hours of spitting gray skies that kept Troy and I warily hanging by our truck for much of the day. That wouldn’t be so bad if he were better company, but it’s a monumental struggle to get a damn word out of the dude. It makes hunkering down in the truck so boring it’s almost painful, and if I’m being honest, it only makes me miss Darius more. Hell, it almost makes me miss Cedric.

I’m relieved to get back to the compound until I’m showered and alone in my room, still with no one to talk to. Approaching Darius for no reason other than to socialize still feels awkward, and I don’t want to talk about the damn party anymore. As I’m finally clean and warm after that unpleasant day, the gym doesn’t hold much appeal either, let alone braving the rain to get there. Eventually, I settle on one of my old training texts to keep me company, slump into my chair and flip through its creased pages. Fresh ideas for my sessions with Katniss can’t hurt.

It’s getting close to four when a set of sharp raps echo from my window and I startle in my seat. Once my heart drops back out of my throat, I break into a huge smile. I unlatch the window and push the pane out – slowly, so I don’t hit my visitor in the forehead – and look down into eyes as gray and beautiful as the stormy sky.

“Hey,” grins Katniss. She straightens up, hoists herself up on the sill and leans forward to plant a surprise kiss on my lips.

“Oh, hi,” I smirk. My hands scoop under her arms and help her clamber in the window. “Couldn’t wait to see me?”

“Nothing better to do.”

Nodding out into the gloom, I gather, “Can’t hunt in that downpour, huh?”

“Yeah, we went right after school to try to beat the rain, but had to call it a day before we even caught anything. Prey were all hiding somewhere drier and we could barely see.” Her teeth rake over her lip just before she adds, “I asked Gale to tell Prim and Mom I was going to visit Madge, and not to worry.”

My lips crack with a genuine laugh. “Oh, classic excuse.”

“Is it?” Her expression is just as clueless as her tone. Precious.

“You’re acting like a normal teenager,” I tease her, bumping her shoulder with my fist. “That’s so cute.” Shooting me a playful glower, she wrings out her braid on my carpet, causing me to return the look. “I suppose you want another hot shower?”

Katniss raises her eyebrows and responds a little too innocently, “I thought it was a standing offer to keep me warm.”

Oh. She’s here to share body heat. I can’t help but gulp at that thought, but I try to keep it discreet. “Let me get you a towel.”

By the time I return to my quarters, I find my girlfriend has already wiped her boots with my laundry, hung her dripping jacket and game bag from my clothing rack, and is now perusing my collection of pictures again. Picking out some dry clothes from the dresser, I wisecrack, “Make yourself at home.”

“I knew she looked familiar,” is Katniss’s latest unrelated reply. Cautiously stepping up beside her, I observe as she peers closer at the photo she inquired about last time, shakes her head slightly. “She looks so normal.”

Despite the horrible things I’ve let Katniss get away with saying about my own involvement in the program, this really rubs me the wrong way. Pointedly thrusting the towel into her chest, I state, “Scar’s actually one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” Her incredulous stare makes me reiterate, “I told you, it’s different there. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.” Her voice is as deep and quiet as ever in that one syllable. “Try to explain how your nice friend could so casually murder my classmate.”

Pinching and ducking my brow, I sigh with exasperation, “Can we please talk about this another time?” Katniss doesn’t answer, so I catch her eye again, still massaging my forehead. “Please. I don’t want to fight, okay?”

“You don’t? Are you feeling all right?” Katniss lifts her the back of her hand to my brow.

“Oh, you’re so witty,” I drawl with a massive eye roll. “My neighbour Athena said the same thing. Apparently, I must be ill if I’m not picking fights and in general being a rude, callous bitch.” Despite what’s probably only a minimal effort, Katniss’s face starts to split with a shit-eating grin, so I gesture behind her and snark, “The window’s that way.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna kick me out,” purrs Katniss.

She’s right, but I still feel the need to retort, “And why not?”

“Because you don’t want to,” is her infuriatingly smug reply, punctuated by a kiss between my eyebrows. She’s beating me at my own game. “Now, turn around so I can get changed.”

When I get back from spinning her clothes and depositing them in one of the dryers, Katniss is staring out the window and, despite the sweater I gave her, weakly rubbing her crossed arms. As I prowl up behind her, I pick up on a shudder or two.

“You cold, Everdeen?” I murmur, circling my arms around hers. A little hum of affirmation answers that, so I lean into her to let my body warm her back, resting my chin against the back of her shoulder. My nose is pressed into the juncture of her shoulder and neck, and I can’t help but notice how she smells like earth and sweat. Like life. I could use some of that.

The longer we stand there, the more she shivers. Unsure of whether it’s due to the cold or her nerves, I settle on a common cure. When I release her, she turns around in a silent question, only to see me drawing back the covers on my bed. She steps forward in eager agreement while I get in. Burrowing under the blankets, I scoot back toward the wall to make space for her to join me, space she quickly takes. As she’s settling in, I offer her my arms, and she accepts those just as readily. Once she’s resting her head on my biceps and one hand on my ribcage, she finally relaxes. Occasional contented hums escape her lips as I graze my fingers over her temple, run them through her long bangs.

Honestly, I could listen to that forever, but after a few minutes of this, she breaks the silence of sorts with an inquiry as awkward as it is sincere. “So, how’ve you been?”

I can’t help but smirk. “Since Thursday?”

“Mm.”

“Fine,” I chuckle, drawing her in closer. “Nothing new and exciting in the world of Peacekeeping.”

“I missed you.”

Katniss’s face is buried in my chest, muffling her words so much that I almost don’t catch them. But I do, and I tilt my head down in surprise, meeting her earnest gaze. “You just saw me the other day.”

“That’s not enough.” The second these words escape her lips, her eyes widen and flick away. She tucks her chin and curls in a little closer, but says no more.

“Katniss,” I beckon her quietly. When she doesn’t move, I hook a couple of fingers under her jaw to lift her head. She catches my eye hesitantly and I smile, ghosting my thumb over the corner of her mouth. “It’s okay, I get it. Whenever you leave, I start counting down the hours until I can see you again,” I confess. “Twenty-four early was a nice surprise.”

Those words are barely out of my mouth before Katniss surges forward. Her hand flies up, cupping my cheek as she urgently presses her lips against mine. The surprise paralyzes me for a second, but then my mouth opens enough to let her persistent tongue run over my teeth and probe its counterpart into a response. A heat starts smoldering in my gut almost immediately, and it’s only intensified as my fingers wander down her side to trace her ribs, as our legs tangle between the sheets. However, my faith in my ability to maintain control doesn’t wane until Katniss begins releasing soft whimpers into my mouth along with her escalating breaths, and I can’t help but think of other ways to procure those sounds. A panicked buzzing starts competing with the stupor of pleasure affecting my brain as the heat in my gut starts spreading out in every direction. Most notably, downward. It’s suddenly taking everything in me not to lift my knee and nudge her between the legs, give her that extra push she talked about. I tear my lips away before I can do something I’ll regret when sober. Yes, sober. She might as well be a drug.

The second I pull back, her already darkened eyes narrow and flash. But then the panic in my face must register, because she leans back a bit and her hand trails down to my shoulder. “Sorry, is this too much?” she asks. “It felt nice, and I didn’t want to stop.”

Chuckling to myself, I roll back on the mattress so I’m staring up at the ceiling. She’s right, it was nice. And I wish I could just enjoy these things with her wonderment and enthusiasm instead of being a big ball of hormones all the time. Especially since I can’t act on them.

“I’m still not used to this,” Katniss admits, picking at a loose thread in my sheets. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. The girls at school, they go on about boys and how they want to kiss them, or more, and I never really got it. I assumed it was because I had more important things to worry about, but maybe this is why.”

A grin plays at my lips, and I turn my head. “It seriously never occurred to you before now?”

“Not until you said that thing about your ex being a girl,” she specifies. “Then I thought maybe that was why I felt something different around you. Why you made me so nervous. In a good way, I mean. Mostly.”

“In a good way?” That grin turns truly catlike as I pry, “And just what do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure that I do.” I’m totally toying with her now, but I’m not sure that she can tell.

Rolling her eyes, she spells out, “I mean my senses were heightened and focused. Sort of like if I’m on a hunt, but I can also sense a predator. And I kept stumbling over my words and saying stupid shit.”

My lips curl into a smirk. “And you’re saying that’s unusual?”

“Shut up,” she huffs, palming the side of my face and pushing to turn it to the wall.

Swatting her hand away, I snigger, “Or what? You’ll give me another black eye?” My saucy grin seems to make her falter. She retracts her hand, dipping her chin to break eye contact.

“Look,” she mumbles, “I’ll forget about my feet if you’ll forget about your eye.”

“No.”

Those gray eyes flick back up in bewilderment. “No?”

“It’s like you said, about how we met,” I smile, tracing a finger over her jaw. “It’s all part of our history. I don’t wanna forget.”

Everdeen returns the smile, eyes twinkling. “Okay.” She tilts her head forward to reconnect our lips, and I don’t resist. How could I? These kisses are a lazy smolder, not the flash fire we stoked a few minutes ago, but it still makes me a touch uneasy. Probably because I’m flat on my back and I can still feel how wet it made me. I’m desperate for a good distraction right now, but with the storm, we’re pretty much stuck in this room. Training would be a great way to work off some energy, but that’s out, for the same reason. Unless…

My eyes pop open and I slowly disengage our lips. Once her expression is fully attentive, albeit slightly annoyed, I announce, “I have an idea.”

“What?” she blinks.

“Grab your boots and jacket,” I order her, tossing the covers and crawling over her to escape the bed. “We’re taking a field trip.” It’s not until I’m draping my raincoat over my shoulders that I turn around and notice that Katniss has not moved and is looking a little queasy. “What?”

Her dry tongue flits over her lips while her eyes stay glued to the blankets. It’s a moment before she manages, “The only field trips I’ve ever been on were to the mines.” Oh, no. She lifts her head as I creep back toward her. Her eyes are glazed over, jaw trembling almost indiscernibly. “We go every August. It was unpleasant enough when I was little, but since…”

“Hey.” My fingers brush over her cheek. She pushes out a shuddering sigh and sits up, drawing her knees to her chest. Easing myself down beside her, I take her hand and wait for her to continue.

“The year I was twelve, that was the first time after that and I… I started puking the night before, and my mom kept me home. Thought I’d caught the flu.” Her brow creases and she confesses irritably, “It happened again this year. I thought it was getting better, but I guess not.”

“How could it get better?” is my blunt reply. She squints curiously as I elaborate, “Did you ever even get a chance to mourn?”

“Look where mourning got my mother,” she snaps. “The nothingness, right? I couldn’t let that happen to me too. Prim and I were already on the verge of death. I couldn’t afford to wallow.”

“Mourning doesn’t always mean wallowing,” I preach. But saying this only reminds me that I’m hardly qualified to say that. So I sigh and confess, “I have a tendency to wallow, especially since the Clove incident. It really fucked with me. But something the head doctor told me was that you can still grieve without wallowing. Just sitting with your pain, acknowledging it and its right to exist, but not letting it incapacitate you.”

Katniss shakes her head blankly. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t really, either,” I admit. “But I’m trying to work on it. Be a little more balanced.” My lip finds it way between my teeth as my eyes flee the scene. They land on the leather jacket still draped over one of my hangers, and I remember the plan that led us to this conversation. Standing to retrieve it, I instruct her, “Go around N wing-” Her brow furrows and I clarify, “-sorry, the back of the building, and meet me at the shack south of the barracks in five minutes. I need to make sure we’re alone before I can let you in.”

The gym is empty when I arrive, as I had hoped. The rain can make people stir-crazy and eager to exercise, but no one wants to walk even twenty seconds in this sort of deluge. My hood does little in the face of the wind, so my face is dripping by the time I get inside. Katniss, meanwhile, is absolutely drenched when she knocks on the door.

“So much for getting dry,” she grumbles, slinging her jacket on a hook before peeling off her boots. The sweater underneath is dry enough, but the sweatpants I gave her look to be clinging to her thighs.

Barely resisting the urge to make a joke about getting her wet, I lead her past the lobby and proclaim with a flourish, “Behold, the barracks gym.”

Her eyes grow comically huge as she surveys the room. “This is all for exercising?”

“Yeah. I’d love to get you in here a few times a week, help you get some faster results, but chances are we’d get caught eventually. By Darius, if no one else, which… awkward.”

Katniss’s eyes jump to mine, then deflect away just as quickly. “Are things still weird between you two?” she queries, fingering the cycle trainer beside her. “Even when I’m not there?”

“Would things be weird between you and Gale if he knew about us?” I crack rhetorically. She shoots me a look, but I’m unperturbed. “You know he likes you, right?”

“You’ve mentioned it a few times,” she understates dryly. “I can see what you mean now, but he’s never said as much.” Flexing her hands and cracking her back to loosen up, she takes in our surroundings again. “So, where do we start?”

I shrug. “There’s not much point using any of this stuff if we only get to do it once.”

“Then what did you drag me out here for?” demands Katniss.

“Unarmed combat. Martial arts.” Nodding and ambling toward the mats, I point out, “It’s a softer landing than outdoors, and more space than my bed.” Not that I would mind wrestling with her in the confines of my bed one bit, in time. That probably wouldn’t be the most productive training exercise, though.

“So you’re gonna teach me takedowns,” she surmises.

“Mm hm,” I confirm. “And grappling techniques, projections, pins and holds. Offensive and evasive. The whole lot.”

“Okay,” she grins. “I have no idea what most of that meant, but it sounds fun.” No argument there; martial arts was always one of my favorite training activities. Especially once I was training with Clove, because we were well-matched in size and skill and it was a great way to get out serious or playful aggression. That, and how it often ended up leading to rough sex. I push that thought aside as I beckon Katniss to the mat. Or I try to, at least.

My lack of success in that endeavor becomes painfully clear as our lesson rolls along. Pun intended. Teaching her how to slip tackles and lead an opponent’s momentum into a throw isn’t so bad, because the idea is to avoid grappling. But once we’re down on the mat, excessive clothing discarded, grunting and sweating on each other, it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on teaching the holds I have in mind. This was an awful idea, as far as distractions go. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say.

We break from formal instruction after an hour or so for a bit of sparring, and though I mostly retain the upper hand, Katniss makes a breakthrough after a few rounds. Her pompous self-satisfied expression after slamming my hip to the mat and wrapping her arms under my armpit and neck to finish a near-perfect Quarter Nelson makes me teeter on the edge of self-control. My eyes roll back in my head as a jolt slices through my body and strikes between my legs, making it impossible not to seize and whimper. Not that I actually move much, seeing as she’s got me firmly pinned with her body, but my verbal reaction is perfectly audible. Especially considering her face is mere inches from mine.

“Hanna?” Her voice and face are suddenly awash with worry. “Did I hurt you?” Not like I want her to. But I can’t say that aloud.

“No, I’m okay,” I assure her, extricating myself from her grip and shakily getting to my feet. “That was really good. Impressive.”

“Thanks,” she blushes. I think, anyway. Her skin is pretty flushed already. Once I take a moment to visit the water fountain and recompose myself, I return to the mats and find her back in an eager fighting stance, ready to test my resolve yet again. “Ready for another round?”

“I, uh…”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re wussing out on me now, Mason,” she taunts me. My eyes narrow testily. The kid is really asking for it.

“I was gonna say you’re doing well on the floor stuff, so let’s work on another piece,” I snap. Katniss scowls but nods her assent. “Okay, let’s do some more takedowns,” I continue. “Ground work isn’t of much use if you can’t get them there.” Also, the opportunity to slam her smug ass to the mat is looking pretty appealing right now, so there’s that. Getting set a couple of feet from her, I begin, “So, assuming your opponent is wearing clothing - I hope - that can be one of your most powerful ways to get them off-balance.”

“Like what you did with my jacket after you kicked the axe out of my hands.”

“Exactly,” I concur. “Getting a good grip in the right spot is crucial if you want to make proper use of your leverage. Let me show you.”

This doesn’t go as well as planned. The takedown itself goes down without a hitch, as does Katniss, and I land with one knee astride her body. But as I stare down at her flattened form, my fingers clutching the single barrier between me and her skin, her eyes widen in a way that I can’t interpret as anything other than arousal. Instantly releasing her t-shirt, I stumble back and exit the mat area, one hand raking through my hair. After exhaling heavily to steady myself, I turn around to see her getting to her feet and staring at me, her face an animated jumble of emotions.

“Sorry, I…” A defeated sigh escapes my lips. “I need to stop.”

“Why?” she pries. God, is she really that dense?

“Because if I don’t, I’m going to rip your clothes off and violate you, right there on that mat,” I spell out. Even I am surprised that that came out of my mouth, but Katniss’s reaction is priceless. The way her eyes are bulging, I can’t tell if she’s more scared or aroused by that statement. Mine drop to the floor. “Sorry, I know I’m disgusting.”

“Stop apologizing.” Her sudden sharp tone overrides my shame and lifts my head. “Johanna, this is normal, what you’re feeling. This is okay. It’s not suddenly not okay once we pass a certain date and then okay again once we pass another. That’s bullshit.”

“Well, that was what I thought too, before I got busted,” I retort pointedly.

Katniss goes quiet for a moment, but the anger in her eyes tells me she has plenty to say. Finally, she settles on, “You know, Hanna, I think you need to let the Clove thing go.”

Confusion takes over my face. “I thought you didn’t think you were ready for that stuff anyway.”

“I still don’t,” she mumbles, eyes flitting away for just an instant. “That’s not the point.” She gets her volume back when she contends, “But if your guilt is affecting our training, that’s a problem. And if it’s affecting our relationship, if it makes you uncomfortable being alone with me, that’s an even bigger problem.” Her toe scuffs the mat aggressively. “We can’t have a natural progression if you’re so fucking paranoid all the time.”

A snort bursts out as I mock her, “Like you know anything about how a relationship is supposed to progress.”

“I don’t, but I’d like to find out!” Katniss takes a breath and a moment to collect her thoughts before meeting my eyes earnestly. “Look, I want to respect your hangup, respect you, but you know I can’t stand being treated like a child. And now that I know what was causing you to hold back, it just makes me feel like that’s how you see me.”

Rolling my eyes, I insist, “I already told you-”

“Then prove it.”

This interruption only irks me further. Tilting my head condescendingly, I sneer, “How would you like me to prove it to you, Everdeen? By sticking my fingers inside you?”

“N-no, by…” She shakes the shock from her face before growling, “By chilling the fuck out. And treating me like your girlfriend, not some kind of forbidden fruit.”

Deflating with a heavy sigh, I gripe, “I knew telling was you was just going to cause trouble. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Katniss scoffs and turns away, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Oh, it’s somehow unbelievable that I could regret opening up to Katniss? Really? And she asked how I could keep my intentions to volunteer a secret. She’s too thick-skulled to realize that it’s her hostility and self-righteous attitude that make her difficult to confide in. Too thick-skulled to realize much at all.

“You know what, Katniss?” I snap. “I know you don’t understand this, but there’s a level of responsibility tied to coming of age, at least legally.”

“Oh, fuck you!” she snarls, whirling back my way. “Like I’m the one who knows nothing about responsibility? My father died, and I picked up the pieces and led my family, at eleven fucking years old!” Her eyes zero in on me, like a prey in her sights. “You? Your girlfriend dumped you, and you collapsed into nothing. Abandoned everything and ran away. And you’re the one who was supposedly an adult.”

“I was sick!” My voice goes shrill with insult and disbelief that she would turn that painful disclosure around on me. Despite her general insensitivity, I really didn’t think she would stoop that low. “It’s an illness, hence the head doctor. And it’s that exact attitude that’s tearing your family apart right now, the family you’re supposedly leading.”

She tosses a frustrated hand in the air. “I shouldn’t have to be leading it! I’m only fifteen. Pardon me if I’m a little bitter.”

“Oh, so now you’re playing the youth card?” I scoff. “That’s very convenient, Katniss. Very mature.” There’s a slight waver in her expression, so that must strike a nerve despite her anger. “You tell me I need to get over the Clove thing, yet here you are holding the biggest grudge of all.”

“My mother’s failure is still affecting me,” argues Katniss.

“Look at where I am!” I counter. “Clove’s betrayal is still impacting me too, brainless. It will be forever. She fucking ruined my life.” When Katniss’s shoulders sag, I recognize my poor phrasing.

“I thought you said that was all worth it because now you were with me,” she mumbles.

“I mean, she ruined my old life,” I backpedal. “You said you picked up the pieces? For me, there were no pieces. That’s what I was trying to say.”

Katniss’s pursed lips force her sigh to escape through her nose. Her toe bores into the mat as she stares down at it, chewing on her cheek. The frustration in her eyes has turned defeated by the time they flick back up. “What will it take to convince you that I’m not her?”

“What?” The question all but floors me. Shaking my head to clear it, I answer, “I know you aren’t, Everdeen. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You want to prove to yourself that you can be responsible,” she infers. My slight nod makes her posture wilt just a touch. “Is that really worth making me feel this way?”

“Katniss-”

“I just want you to be mine,” she proclaims fiercely, “without the shadows of your past lovers hanging over us. Darius, Clove, whoever.”

Again, this takes me by surprise. The passion with which she said it, sure, but more so the implication that this is not already the case. So I make sure to harness all my sincerity when I declare, “I am yours.” This pulls a weak smile onto her lips, but the lines of doubt don’t leave her face, so I do my best to explain why my words may seem unproven. “But Katniss, everyone we’re with changes us. I’ve taken something out of every fling I’ve had. Learned something about myself, or the world, or what I want and don’t want. You can’t expect me to be naive just because you are.”

Her mouth twitches glumly and her eyes flit away. And that’s when I realize that maybe that’s the problem.

“Does it bother you that this isn’t the first time I’ve been in love?” I probe abruptly. It’s not exactly reasonable, but hey, this is Katniss we’re talking about. The only answer I get is her wide eyes returning to me and her mouth dropping open. As I return the stare uncertainly, it dawns on me what I just said. Whoops. I’ve been making an effort to avoid using that pesky word, but it’s too late to take it back now. Better to roll with it than get all blushy and make it awkward.

“Don’t let it,” is my sincere advice. “Sure, I loved Clove to some degree, and I’ve felt things for Darius and a variety of other people. But it doesn’t mean what I feel for you means any less. If anything, it means more. It’s harder to fall in love when you have before, especially if you got hurt. It can be hard to let go of the people in your past, not to mention the pain they caused.”

Everdeen’s eyes fall to the floor again. “But you haven’t,” she protests quietly. “That’s the problem.”

With those words and her forlorn expression and demeanor, it finally strikes me how right she is. About that, anyway. The way I’ve been treating her certainly has been dictated by my past, completely. No, I haven’t let the Clove thing go, and no, it’s not fair to her. So I say, “Okay.”

“Okay?” she echoes uncertainly.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you what, Everdeen. I’m still not gonna push you for anything sexual, not for now. But I’ll be ready when you are, whether it’s today, or in a month, or in five months. I won’t hold you back.” Narrowed eyes and pursed lips is not the reaction I was banking on, so I snap, “What? Is that not a perfectly agreeable solution for you?”

“I can hold myself back just fine, you know,” she snarks. “Has that even occurred to you? If you don't think I can, then you're no better than whoever made that bullshit law. Then you really do see me as a child.” Before I can protest, she forges on, “I'm not some hormonal teenager with no self-control, you know. And neither are you.”

“Speak for yourself,” I grunt, averting my eyes. They are pulled back up against my will when Katniss closes the gap between us and tilts my chin up.

“Look, we’re a team, okay? It’s not only your responsibility, whatever happens here,” she asserts. “I'm sure, between the two of us, we can take things at a reasonable pace, without you panicking and digging your heels in whenever you start to feel yourself losing control a little. I can still be in control. I can say no, or yes, or whatever I want.” Holding my gaze, she earnestly implores, “Trust me. Trust me to know what I do and don’t want, and to tell you.”

“You’re not the best communicator,” I point out, in the understatement of the year.

Katniss smiles faintly and traces my cheekbone with her thumb. “Then I guess I’ll have to work on that, won’t I?”

We don’t leave the gym until she collapses on the mat after the weakest excuse for a fight I’ve ever seen her put up, during another bout of sparring maybe forty minutes later. She often has to tolerate longer training sessions than this, on Sundays anyway, but wrestling and being thrown around like a rag doll have undoubtedly taken their toll and tuckered her out early. Still, I make a mental note to compel her to work on her endurance.

After I get some food in us and sneak her in and out of the shower, I suggest we continue training in a less taxing way. I spread one of my other textbooks across our laps to teach her some theory of weapons techniques, but very soon her drooping eyelids bid her lie down. She sprawls on her stomach and promises that it’ll just be a minute, she just needs to get her focus back, but she’s out like a light within seconds. Sore, exhausted muscles and a full belly and hot shower after a long workout tend to have that effect, so it’s hardly a surprise. But it’s so fucking adorable that I can only grin like an idiot and stare as her back rises and falls rhythmically.

Shuffling forward from where we were reclined against the wall, I drink in the view of the breaths passing through her parted lips while her eyelids twitch along with the images flickering behind them. She looks remarkably younger when she’s asleep, less troubled and burdened, and it makes my heart ache that I’ve never seen her look so peaceful before. I can’t help but think of how she gets such little reprieve in her daily life, and then it crosses my mind that maybe she’s passed out so hard here because she’s incapable of truly relaxing anywhere else within the district borders. It’s perverse and selfish, like Katniss-level possessiveness and disregard, but that thought makes me smile. Despite all this, I don’t let her nap for long, because otherwise she’ll be up all night. And not in a good way.

Katniss’s eyes flicker as I rouse her with a light shake of her shoulder. After squeezing shut again to accompany a large yawn, they fixate on me.

I flash her a teasing grin. “Got your focus back?”

She glances sheepishly at my bedside clock. “How long was I out?”

“Maybe twenty minutes.”

“You should’ve woken me sooner,” she mumbles, pushing herself into a sitting position.

“Nah, that’s an ideal length for a power nap,” I inform her. “And it’s not my fault you’re so cute when you’re sleeping.” She blushes and averts her eyes, which just makes me grin more.

We study awhile longer, but eventually end up talking about nothing, for hours. She’s stalling. The rain has let up considerably by now, but she evidently isn’t interested in leaving, and I’m not about to suggest it. It’s not like she’s never spent the night before. But now that I know where this is going, the anticipation makes the evening drag.

When I feel it’s late enough to justifiably offer, I casually remark, “I’m gonna get ready to hit the sack. Do you want to stay?”

There’s obvious straining in her face as she tries to disguise it, play it cool, but the light in her eyes makes her excitement conspicuous all the same. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

The truth of that statement isn’t readily apparent once the lights are off and we’re huddled under my covers. Separately. For all her talk of progressing naturally, Katniss is lying stiff as a board beside me, a far cry from what I observed during her impromptu nap a few hours earlier. It takes me several tense moments to clue in that it’s because she's not used to this kind of situation and doesn't know what to do. Cuddling a bit in the daylight doesn’t translate so well to holding someone at night, at least not for someone so inexperienced. Nothing will happen if I don't initiate it, and I don't want to endure an hour of awkward restlessness before falling asleep like I had to last time, so I give in. Rolling onto my side, I nestle my head under her chin and lay my hand on her breastbone.

Her suddenly loud and rapid heartbeat echoes through her ribcage and into my ear, and though it makes me smile smugly, I decide against teasing her about it. That would just be cruel. She's already nervous enough, unable to move a muscle except to swallow and twitch. I wonder after a minute if I've made her truly uncomfortable and should back off, but then she shifts to free her right arm and let me snuggle in closer, wrapping it around me.

Her heart eventually slows and she begins tracing patterns over my shoulder, then lifts her head to leave a kiss on my crown. My first impulse is to tilt my face up and intercept that kiss with my lips, but alarm bells in my head give me pause until I am able to remind myself of our new agreement of sorts. She wants my trust, so I give it to her.

Katniss startles subtly when I crane my neck to reach her mouth, but she responds eagerly, curling her fingers under mine and sweeping her palm over as much of my back as she can reach. Her parted lips, on the contrary, brush gently across mine with soft pecks here and there, breathing my breath and nearly stealing it. Her lungs suddenly draw a sharper breath as she pushes forward to increase the pressure, and I take that as my cue to slip my tongue between her teeth. She gasps almost silently as hers moves to meet it, dancing with it lightly, almost teasingly so. Though I doubt that’s intentional.

While I may be predisposed to roughness, the raw sensuality of this is overpowering in its own way. Is it too sappy to say that I feel it more in my heart than my loins? Just one more way this girl drives me nuts. What I said earlier was more than accurate. I am not just in love, I am head over fucking heels, to the point where it’s almost scary. But it’s much more enjoyable than the fear of my own desire, the one that Katniss has somewhat freed me from with her declaration of responsibility. Perhaps that’s why I feel less desire now, because I’m not so afraid of it anymore. This moment is still frustrating to an extent, but I let it go on. I’m doing this for her. Letting her decide. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

***

Waking up in the stark light of day is a privilege I am only able to take advantage of twice a week, though my internal clock usually prevents me from doing so. The odd time I can, it’s most often because I’m in the midst of one of my funks and have zero energy. Not today. Today, a peaceful contentment embraces me as I am slowly lulled into consciousness - another rarity. The first thing I become aware of is the scent, a wonderful medley of my laundry and my lover’s skin permeating every breath. Then I feel the warm mass my body is cradling, the rhythmic expansions of her ribcage pushing into me, the way her legs are entangled with mine.

The hunter stirs only moments later, alerting me to how I’ve started grazing my fingertips up and down her forearm. With the exception of jumping Clove for training purposes, I have a habit of teasing my partners into waking, though it’s often in a less benign way. It’s one of the many factors behind my preference for being the big spoon, such as the associated feelings of strength and possession. I actually don't mind being the little spoon with Katniss one bit, though, as I first noted that morning I woke up in her arms. It makes me feel both safer and more vulnerable at the same time. Warmer. I like it. But I enjoy this too, and I place gentle kisses up the back of her neck until she makes a sleepy contented noise, rolls over and buries her face in my chest.

Katniss’s arms snake around my waist and squeeze harder than her half-asleep state led me to expect, making my heart jump and stutter. She nuzzles deeper into me and snuffles, then grunts before mumbling a bleary, “Morning.” She's so cute, I almost lose my mind right here and now.

“Morning, Everdeen,” I reply calmly.

Lifting her head, she meets my eyes and smiles dopily. “Sleep well?”

“Very. You?”

Her expression takes on this odd, almost inquisitive quality as she reflects, “Never better.” My hand moves to tuck some hair behind her ear, and she blushes.

“Still not used to it?” I smirk.

“I don’t get to be close to people very often,” Katniss shrugs, glancing down at the pillow. “I don’t usually want to be, to be honest. It’s hard for me to find people I’m comfortable around.”

I drag my fingertips down her jaw and off her chin, then uneasily swipe my own bangs from my face. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable that I’m a Peacekeeper?”

Her head tilts up, and the sincerity and affection burning in those gray eyes almost makes me melt. “Not anymore. I trust you.”

I could take her right now. It’s an intrusive and inappropriate thought, but she’d look so beautiful, spread out amidst my sheets in the morning sun. But despite the obvious admiration in her gaze, I can’t be sure if I’m detecting any lust. Before I can ask what she’s thinking or make some kind of a move to find out, the sound of a birdcall catches her attention and she pushes up on her arm to check the time.

“Shit! I'm late to meet Gale.” Katniss scrambles over me and nearly takes a tumble on the floor as her legs get caught in the blankets. We really didn’t sleep in that late, not like if I’d kept her up all night or anything. We made out for some time, but things never progressed. Not that I expected or especially wanted them to. Apparently, my libido came back overnight. Terrific.

Despite the fact that her back is turned, I consciously flick my eyes away as Katniss lifts her arms to remove her pajama top, sighing as I stretch out on the suddenly roomy mattress. If she wanted to go for any other reason than to hunt, I'd urge her to stay in this warm, semi-comfy bed instead of going out and slogging through the mud. But I too know how to hunt and track prey, albeit a different kind. The mud and the creatures' likely hunger after that day of hiding should make it a field day for them, one they sorely need after being rained out yesterday. The petrichor should help mask their scent, too. It would be selfish to delay her, so I say nothing.

“You wanna come?” My eyes jump in surprise to the unfair view of Katniss cinching up her belt with her gaze intently on me. I avert them to the ceiling with a sigh and consider her offer. Of course I want to go, but I don't want to cause any more drama. As much as I'd love to spend the day with her, and to be honest spell out our relationship by showing up with her late, I don't want her to end up on the same rocky terms with her best friend as I'm on with mine. I like to think I have a bit more maturity and self-control than her. Not to mention, Gale isn’t my biggest fan and is hardly the first person I’d trust with a secret that could get me in a lot of shit.

“It's a bad idea,” is what I say in summary. When she squints, I elucidate, “He'll be mad enough already. But if he realizes where you were all night, and that you lied about Madge…” I lift an eyebrow and allow her to finish that thought for herself.

“Yeah,” she admits, shrugging on her jacket. “You're right.”

“I have to go to Purnia’s party anyway or Darius will kill me,” I add as an afterthought.

“Right, right,” she says, giving her head a sheepish shake as she sits down beside my feet, nabbing her boots from the foot of the bed. “I forgot.”

When her boots are laced up and she’s stood and slung her bag over her shoulder, I finally drag myself out of bed and block her way out, settling my hands on her hips. She reflects my smile just as I lean in to give her a kiss goodbye. Things heats up quickly, her one hand flying to my jaw to deepen the kiss while both of mine draw our bodies flush. But she pulls away reluctantly before we can lose our heads, in favor of getting a move on. “See you later?”

“Yeah. I'll be there,” I assure her. “I might be a little late because of the party thing, but I’m coming, don’t worry.”

I flop back into bed once she’s gone, mostly because I can. My Sundays are typically spent loitering around the barracks, working out or reading or giving myself a bunch of orgasms. Not to say that I don’t do any of those things today, I do have one special task that forces me to leave the compound in the early afternoon. Darius has commissioned me walk to town and pick up the cake he ordered so he doesn’t have to after shift. Unfortunately, I don’t get a peek because it is already wrapped up in a brown paper box.

Someone more thoughtful than me reminded Darius that Purnia has Sundays off and it would be hard to decorate the Commune without her noticing and thereby ruining the surprise, so the room looks bare as always other than the non-descript box when Purnia comes rushing in with Darius on her heels shortly after shift. She looks around in what appears to be a panic until we all jump out from under the tables and behind the coffee counter with a collective shout of, “Surprise!”

Her breath catches for a second, then she turns and glares at a grinning Darius before joining the group with a thank-you. My curiosity is piqued, and after taking my turn greeting her, I make my way over to the redhead.

Keeping my eye on Purnia, I inquire, “How did you get her here?”

“I told her you were having a breakdown and threatening to slice yourself open with one of the butcher’s knives,” he reveals, still smirking at his own ingenious idea.

I tilt my head up sharply. “That’s not funny, Darius.”

A cavalier chuckle escapes his lips, but when he glances down at me, my stony expression makes his fall. “Maybe not, but it worked.” Shrugging and glancing over at our CO, he admits, “It was the first thing I could think of to get her out here.”

Darius Hallett has always known me to be one to take a joke, but I guess I‘m not finding my own lack of emotional stability particularly funny after what Katniss said about it yesterday. Breaking from his side, I wander over to examine the cake that’s just been unveiled. I’ve never paid much attention to the cakes in the bakery window before, but this one is a work of art. A dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, and “Aye aye, Captain!” appearing to be drawn in the strip of sand pebbled with seashells and sand dollars. Our money was well spent.

My theory that Purnia wouldn’t appreciate a surprise party appears to have been erroneous. I catch her eyeing the clock a few times, but it doesn’t seem to be out of sheer boredom. If nothing else, she’s faking being grateful, even for the rather lacklustre last minute gift of a leather satchel. If that’s the best Darius can do, I wonder what he would have ordered her out of Two. I would have gone for some kind of sex toy from that shop in the city, but that’s just me.

Around a quarter to four, I decide it’s time I took my leave, so I track down the host to give my regards. My irritation with him long abated, I sidle up beside him and simply state, “You did good, Darius.”

Though I’m not looking, I can feel his eyes on me. Then I feel a meaty arm slide around my shoulders, but no need to hesitate before leaning into his side. Darius jostles me the slightest bit, his mouth curling into an affectionate smile. “Thanks, Jo.”

My eyes track across the room in search of the birthday girl so I can extend my well wishes again before leaving, but she appears to have slipped out since I last checked on her. I do notice Tory and Athena observing Darius and I with devious smiles, though, so I flip them off before pulling out from under his arm.

“Off to meet Katniss?” he asks when I turn to him to say goodbye.

“Yeah,” I admit hesitantly.

He nods. “Tell her I say hi.”

On my way to my quarters to change back into uniform, I pass by one of the offices and overhear Purnia speaking in a hushed but urgent tone. The meddler in me makes me slow down and listen for the identity of the other voice, but when I hear only silence between her whispers, it clicks why she was eyeing the clock. The barracks telephone is in that office. All outposts in the districts and most villages back home have just one communal phone, so it’s nearly impossible to speak to someone unless a time is set in advance. I’ve talked to my parents all but twice since I shipped out. Inching closer to the cracked door, I strain to make out her words.

“I know, baby. I swear, I’ll make a trip out this summer.” After a brief pause in which my eyebrows shoot sky high, she adds, “Yeah, I’ve accrued some leave.” Well, well. Maybe the scenery isn’t all she misses in Four. “Stay out of trouble, okay?” she urges the other person. “I love you, Jason.” A moment passes before she says a final, “Yeah, bye,” and hangs up.

As I stand dumbly in the wake of this discovery, Purnia exhales deeply. She seems to take a minute to collect herself before the creaking chair announces her standing up, and in that time I’ve scooped my jaw off the ground and started to debate whether to walk away and pretend I heard nothing or to stand there and confront her. My feet don’t seem to want to move, so that settles that argument. As I hear her footsteps approaching, I put on my smuggest smile and casually brace my arm on the doorframe beside the hinges.

The door swings inward and Purnia immediately jumps back, her eyes popping. “God…” she gasps. “Fucking shit, Mason.” Having never seen her even remotely jumpy before, I can’t help my satisfied smirk.

“Thought you said you’d never had a Peacekeeper romance,” I drawl. When she only glares, I press on, “Old flame from Four? Left him behind for your career?”

That last sentence sparks a flash of insult in her face, but she quickly recovers into an expression of neutral annoyance before growling, “It’s none of your fucking business, Agent. Leave it alone.”

“Leave it alone?” I retort mockingly, jamming my hand against the doorframe to thwart her attempted exit. Her cold emerald eyes bore into me, but I stand my ground. “Says the woman who’s always intruding in my personal life. Hell, even my love life.”

“I never forced you to tell me anything, Johanna,” she snaps impatiently. “I was just trying to help you. Is it my fault that you opened up to me?”

My obnoxious snort is closely followed by a brief but shrill cackle. “Clearly, I shouldn’t have, if you were lying to me this whole time.”

Her eyes narrow indignantly. “I wasn’t lying! That wasn’t my boyfriend or anything like that.”

“Who else would you call ‘baby’?” I scoff. Upon the realization that I heard that part, Purnia does something I’ve never seen before. She drops her eyes. When she stays silent, I snark, “Oh, so you don’t want to tell me about him? Funny, you’re always trying to get me to talk about my problems.” Another pointed scoff leaves my lips. “Hypocrite.”

Purnia’s face goes stony as she lifts it, as does her voice. “I am your commanding officer, Agent Mason. Even if it weren’t improper, I have no desire to burden you with the details of my personal life.”

“And here I thought you were my friend.” My voice catches the slightest bit, surprising both of us. Since when do I actually care about this woman or how she sees me? I don’t. Maybe I’m just offended that she’s pulling rank on me when out of uniform.

“Well, I was trying to be, in one way or another,” she states decidedly. “But I don’t need to, if that bothers you.” With that, she muscles by me and storms back to the Commune. I’m left staring at her back, struck by a thought identical to one I remember from the day I met her. What a bitch.

When I find Katniss in the woods a short time later, I know immediately that something is wrong. Obviously agitated, she’s pacing around with her hands jammed in her pockets, chewing her cheek and eyeing the ground, brow furrowed. She halts and straightens up when she detects my presence, but far too late. I approach her with the same caution she might a wounded animal.

“Bad day?” I hazard, eyebrows inquisitively high.

“Good day,” she counters. “It more than made up for yesterday.”

“That’s good.” There’s obviously much more to the story, but I’m hesitant to push her. As it turns out, I don’t have to.

“We had a fight,” Katniss reveals, gazing at the dirt again. So my instincts were right.

“Now do you see why I thought it was better not to come?” I question her, dipping my head to try to regain eye contact. I realize perhaps too late that that sounded quite haughty, but Katniss seems to neither notice nor care.

“Thanks,” she grunts, still avoiding my eyes. “I appreciate that.”

Fuck it, I can’t deal with any more evasive bullshit right now. I got enough of that from Purnia. But since she's obviously very uncomfortable, I try to temper the impatience in my tone as I demand, “What’s wrong?”

Sighing resignedly, Katniss lifts her gaze in time to catch my reaction to the bomb she drops. “He kissed me.”

The blood drains from my head as I absorb this news, and I nearly lose my balance. It takes me a few seconds to even form a halfway coherent thought. No. He can’t touch her like that, can’t kiss those lips. They’re mine.

“He didn’t say anything about it when I showed up late, just looked annoyed. We had breakfast and hunted as usual, went to the Hob to trade,” Katniss rambles, observing me with what appears to be concern. “Everything had seemed normal up to that point, but when we were leaving, he suddenly asked if there was something going on with someone else.”

I swallow down my shock and borderline rage to ask, “And what did you say?”

“‘Someone else?’” she replies weakly. It’s the surprise that makes me laugh out loud at this, I think. Not that it should be surprising. That is so very Katniss.

Her face darkens menacingly before I get a chance to recover my wits. “I might have just ended my only real friendship and endangered my ability to feed my family,” she growls dangerously. “And you somehow find that funny?”

“No,” I retort, mildly irked by the accusation. “That’s not why I was laughing, brainless.”

“Oh? Then what’s so funny, Mason?” she demands icily.

“Your lack of tact, duh.” With a demonstrative shrug, I add, “Sometimes it’s so bad it’s laughable. What can I say?”

“Oh, I know,” she agrees in a voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm, prowling closer. “Hilarious, right? It’s so fucking funny when socially inept little Katniss stumbles over her words and says stupid shit, _as usual_. Alienates her friends, whatever, it’s hilarious.”

My brow creases with bewilderment. “I was just teasing when I said that, you know.”

“Yeah, but you meant it!” she maintains. “That’s what you really think of me.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“Yeah, well neither was I. I was caught off guard,” she snaps. “It’s funny to you because you actually _can_ have tact if you try. But you don’t, because you don’t care about anyone’s feelings other than your former boy toy’s. And yet somehow I’m the bad person because I say things wrong?”

“Okay!” My hands lift in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you cared how anyone saw you.”

“Gale isn’t just anyone,” she mutters at the ground. “And neither are you.” When she catches my eye again, the sincerity is plain as day in hers. So she really does care what I think of her. In a way, this isn’t surprising, because I seem to cull a lot more emotion from her than most people, even if that emotion is generally anger. But I guess I always just chalked her general emotional stuntedness up to apathy and a lack of effort. Before I can reflect on this any further, Katniss interjects, “Don’t you remember how upset you were when Darius’s feelings were hurt? Imagine that, but like ten times worse.”

“It’s not like you and Gale are sleeping together,” I mention pointedly.

“Right, because whether or not you’re having sex with someone totally decides how close you are,” she snarks. “Good to know that’s how you feel.” Her eyes flit away as her toe grinds into the dirt. Her voice has lost its edge by the time she asks, “Does your relationship with Darius somehow mean more to you because you’ve…” She peeks up as she trails off, and I shake my head vehemently.

“No,” I declare. “It doesn’t.”

A bit of tension leaves her body, but I can still hear the frustration in her tone when she says, “I don’t think you understand. Until recently, Gale was the only person other than Prim who could make me smile.”

“I don’t think I wanted to understand, to be honest,” I confess. “Your relationship intimidated me. I didn’t want to see what you meant to each other.”

“You don’t have to be intimidated by Gale,” she assures me. “I’m only interested in being with you.”

My eyes fall as I mumble, “I know that, now.” After a moment, I clear my throat and cautiously probe, “So, what did he do? When you said that?”

Katniss rakes her nails through her hair, the distress showing on her face again. “He looked really hurt, pulled away from me. Then he said, ‘And here I thought I was losing you.’ And I said I didn’t understand and he hadn’t lost me at all, and that’s when he kissed me. And then he said, ‘I had to do that, at least once,’ and walked away. Didn’t look back.”

I want to hate Gale for this, but honestly, I can understand his desperation. Feeling like I’m losing Katniss has led me to do some pretty crazy things. Like nearly crack her skull open, for instance.

“Please don’t hurt him, okay?” These words call my attention back to my lover, who’s watching my reaction uneasily.

“What?” With a quick shake of my head, I blink away whatever expression I was wearing. “I’m not gonna hurt him, Everdeen. Darius did a lot more than kiss me and I don’t see you lining him up in your sights.” Her expression reads as some blend of annoyed and relieved at this statement, so I ease up, tilting my head and lowering my voice. “Look, I don’t feel threatened by Gale anymore, okay? I don’t need to stake some kind of claim. I already know you’re mine.” Katniss blinks, her face going slack, and I cock an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she breathes. Stepping closer, she drapes her arms over my shoulders and draws me in to whisper in my ear. “You are mine. I am yours. Anything else is unthinkable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I was busy with career and general life stuff. This fic may or may not be updated again in the near future, as I'm now going to try to finish chapter 2 of BIAL and then write the sequel to Fireside. Then hopefully I will start working on the final chunk of LB in the new year. In any case, there's great stuff to come in this story and I'm always working on it to some extent.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta, as usual.


	11. Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I can't stop writing this fic.
> 
> UPDATE: Fixed the size of the house. Whoops. I was rereading the wrong chapters of CF to try to parse that out.

It takes a lot of restraint for me to not show up at the school or the Hob on Monday afternoon and take a figurative piss on Katniss in front of Gale, but I manage by reminding myself it would just make things worse. For them, of course, but also for me. Gale may or may not realize who Katniss has been sneaking off with, and even if Cray and Purnia don’t have a problem with our relationship, Gale knows other people who may. Like the mayor, for instance. So I shelf my pride begrudgingly and wait until our usual Tuesday meeting to get an update on the situation.

When I broach the subject and ask how things are with Gale, Katniss is taciturn as ever.

“Awkward,” she grumbles with her signature eye roll.

“He’s acting weird, huh?”

“No, not at all,” she clarifies. “That’s the thing. I had this speech planned out about how I’ve never planned on marrying or even wanted a boyfriend, but Gale’s acting like the whole thing never happened.”

“That’s almost worse,” I say. “How can you deal with it, then?”

“I can’t,” she replies. “But it’s kind of a relief, in a way. I don’t want to talk about it. That’s even more awkward than not talking about it.”

My eyebrows twitch and I mutter, “Well, I guess you’ve never been one for talking about your feelings.”

Katniss narrows her eyes with a smirk. “At least now you admit I have feelings.”

“So you tell me,” I drawl teasingly, though I can feel myself forcing the smile. “I’m not sure that speech would have worked, anyway. He already thinks you’re involved with someone.”

“I was just planning on denying it,” she shrugs impassively.

My eyes roll of their own volition. Of course she was. But I remind myself that it’s for the best and just ask, “Do you think he knows who it is?”

“I have no idea,” she admits. “Gale’s perceptive, I think, but it’s not like he’s seen us together much. He probably just assumes I’m seeing someone because I’ve been running off on my own a lot. Maybe I seem happier, too,” she adds with a shrug. “I dunno.”

“Are you happier?” I probe, eyebrows high.

“Of course.” Katniss stares at me like I just asked if the sky is blue, her whole face as incredulous as her tone. That buoys my spirits and makes me smile.

When we’re packing our weapons away and preparing to reluctantly part ways, I remember the other thing I’ve been wanting to ask her. Biting my lip in thought, I start, “You know how you said we don’t see each other enough?”

Katniss blinks down sheepishly. “Mm?”

“I was thinking, I could try to get some more shifts working at the school,” I venture. Katniss shows no reaction, so I press on, “I’d have to suck up to Purnia, because she’s pissed at me right now, but it could be worth it.”

“And you’ll, what?” she snorts. Her head tilts sardonically. “Arrest me every day to make out behind your truck? Is that your plan?”

My arms cross over my chest irritably, and I scowl to hide the stab I just felt under my ribs. “I didn’t really have a plan, Katniss, I just wanted to see you.”

“I know,” she sighs, deflating out of her aggressive posture. Her tone is sincere but cautious as she explains, “I want that too, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. If you were hanging around, I wouldn’t be able to act naturally. And people would question the change.”

“True,” I concur. “Maybe I’ll just come to the Hob a little more often.”

“You could, but we have to be even more careful there,” she cautions. “It’s different when you’re there with a group or whatever, but there are Hobsters who won’t trade with anyone they think is involved with a Peacekeeper. Dirty money. It’s a point of pride.” Dropping her eyes, she bites her lip and admits, “And, honestly, it’s getting harder for me to hide how I feel about you.”

Tipping my head, I examine her inquisitively. “How do you feel about me?”

“I… I feel,” she answers, but her tone suggests more of a question than a statement. I hope it’s just her wording she’s unsure of. “I don’t usually feel much. Much of anything positive, anyway. But I smile more when you’re around, I know that.”

“No shit,” I snap. “Prim said your face lights up when you talk about me.” My tone is a bit harsher than I meant it to be. It may have been an accident, but I’ve gone so far as to say I love the girl, and that’s the best she can do? Sure, she’s utterly terrible at expressing her emotions, especially in words, but give me a break.

“Well, there you go,” Katniss agrees, studying me curiously. “I have to be careful.” Seemingly oblivious to the true source of my irritation, she tries to appease me with, “It doesn’t mean I can’t see you more. We could meet more in the woods, even just to hang out, not to train. Or I…” Her eyes flit away as she tucks her bangs behind her ear. “I could stay over more.”

I can’t help shaking my head with a frustrated little snort of amusement. So fucking adorable, so fucking clueless. At least her effort is clear even if her feelings aren’t, so I take pity on her and put my insult aside for the moment. “I don’t want to take you away from your family any more than I already do,” I sigh honestly. “Prim would miss you.”

“Prim’s fine,” Katniss argues, waving me off. “She has way more friends than I do, sometimes sleeps over at their houses too. It’s not like she needs me to entertain her.” When I don’t respond right away, her face falls. “Look, it was just an idea-”

“No, it’s okay,” I assure her flatly. “It’s a good one.”

But Katniss’s expression doesn’t change as I say that, nor as she examines my face. “Why are you mad?” she asks abruptly, a surprising vulnerability undermining the aggression in her tone.

My fingernails find their way to my scalp while I puff out a sigh. “I’m not mad,” I lie. “Forget it.”

Her exaggerated scoff puts my mannerisms to shame and is accompanied by a blatant eye roll. “Fine,” she surrenders, failing to disguise the frustrated edge in her voice. “Whatever.” Shouldering her game bag and turning away, she barely bothers calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you Thursday.”

Those conversations compound my anxiety over the Gale situation and eat at me into the night and even the next morning. The worst part is, I know they shouldn’t. I’m not usually an overthinker unless I'm in one of my downward spirals, but if Katniss can’t express herself, I’m left to fill in the blanks on my own. And admittedly, under all my bravado, I don’t have the greatest self-esteem.

The trail of thoughts has me pretty pissed off by the end, but at myself now. Because I know I’m being ridiculous. Even if she was withdrawn yesterday, Katniss has said plenty. “You are mine, and I am yours.” How much clearer did she need to be? We belong to each other. For someone as possessive as Katniss, that’s perhaps the strongest statement she could make.

A soft knock interrupts my scornful introspection. “Johanna?” The voice makes my heart jump. Not the noise of it, but who it belongs to. Already unfortunately wide awake, I cross the floor in seconds and ease the door open with a feigned hesitance.

“Darius, hey,” I greet my visitor with a furrowed brow and curious tone. “What’s up?”

“I’m just about to go for a workout,” he replies genially, nodding to the south. “Do you want to come with?”

“Yeah,” I answer immediately, the surprise in my voice completely genuine. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The cynic in me berates myself for my enthusiasm, but I’m glad for the opportunity to put some effort into repairing at least one of my relationships within the force. It wasn’t really true, what I said to Katniss about having to suck up. Since our confrontation at her party, Purnia hasn’t fucked with my assignments or been at all difficult in terms of being my boss. I wish she would, so we could at least have a good fight and get it all out. And I wish it actually was our work relationship that’s bothering me, but truth be told, I miss our usual easy rapport out of uniform. That’s something I never would have expected when I got here.

“I was at the Hob last night,” the redhead discloses as he stoops to settle the weight bar back in the squat rack. Us working in with each other has always been hilariously awkward because of the height difference, but he’s never complained about catering to my size. Before our unfortunate falling out, he never complained about much of anything. How things have changed.

“Ripper still had something left on a Tuesday?” I remark. “That’s a first.”

“No,” he chuckles, wiping his brow as he steps out of the rack. “I was there for the company, not the alcohol.” My eyes drop to the plate rack near my feet. If he wanted company, he could have just knocked. Not that he would, these days. “I saw Gale and Katniss,” he adds, sliding one of the plates off the bar. His tone suggests there’s more to say about it.

“Oh?” I prompt him, a bitter undertone in the question as I wrench the nearest plate from the bar on my side. A flicker in Darius’s eyes tells me he caught it.

“What?” When I don’t answer, he insists, “Jo, what?”

A heavy sigh pushes through my lips as I clasp my hands behind my head, my eyes squeezing shut. “Stormy finally got the balls to kiss the girl.” One eye peeks open to the sight of the boy’s jaw dropping open.

“Oh, shit!” he utters in shock, but I can hear the smirk before it shows on his lips, and just about roll my eyes. Darius could never pass up a piece of juicy gossip. Purnia’s lucky he and I aren’t speaking so much these days.

“‘Oh, shit,’ is right,” I echo firmly.

“Are you gonna kill him?” His tone is facetious, albeit slightly concerned. I’m not sure what it says about me that he’s the second person to insinuate that, but it actually makes me laugh.

“No,” I assure him through a lingering chuckle. “I’m pissed off, but whatever, he doesn’t stand a chance against me.”

“You’re right, there,” he smiles. Shaking the start of a smile from my face, I narrow my eyes good-naturedly. “How did she take it?”

“Badly. But apparently now they’re just pretending like it never happened, not talking about their problems, so…”

His face turns thoughtful. “And here I thought maybe she was improving in that regard.”

“What do you mean?” I probe absent-mindedly.

“That’s what I was about to tell you,” he expounds. “She gave me this adorably awkward long-winded apology last night.”

That snaps my eyebrows straight up. “For what, exactly?”

“For being an asshole, I believe is how she put it,” Darius smirks. I have to duck my head with one of my own. Those are my words. “She said she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings or cause trouble between you and me, but she couldn’t stand sharing you.” Coffee eyes narrow a hair as he continues, “She said she kissed you that day she heard us fighting, and you kissed her back but you still wouldn’t break it off with me.”

My shoulders shrug all the way up to my ears as I nervously cross my arms over my chest. “I was torn,” I weakly offer in my own defense. “It wasn’t so easy for me to choose, you know.”

“There wasn’t a choice, though, was there?” he rebuts cynically. “It was always her.” A tense few seconds pass before he shakes his head and returns to the story. “Anyway, she said she misses talking to me like before, and she’d regret it even for that reason, but it bothers her more that I’m mad at you. She felt like she’d turned us against each other.”

“Well, she kind of did, didn’t she?” I mutter with a caustic edge.

“I didn’t really realize it seemed that way until everyone thought it was me who gave you that black eye,” he reflects, pensively scratching the stubble under his jaw. “Then when she said it, explicitly apologized for ruining our friendship and making me hate you, I figured I’d really shat the bed. Given everyone the wrong impression.” He holds my gaze earnestly. “I don’t hate you, Jo. I’m not even all that angry anymore. I just needed space to get over it.”

“Needed?” One of my eyebrows peaks hopefully above my cheeky smile. “Past tense?”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips despite his reserved reply, “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” On that note, he secures the weight collar on his side and nods at the bar. “You’re up.”

***

The low, throaty timbre of Katniss’s singing voice fills the air as I approach our meeting spot the next day. It’s not the tree song from the first time I overheard her, just some mountain air I’ve never heard before, but it carries a similarly melancholic tune. Unfortunately, I don’t catch many of the words, because a careless foot of mine snaps a twig and announces my presence before I can get too close. The singing ceases abruptly, and she abandons her view of the valley below to twist around and identify the intruder. Her posture doesn’t relax all that much as she catches my eye.

“Very nice,” I compliment her cautiously.

“Thanks.” Repositioning herself on the boulder she’s sitting on, she gives me a casual shrug. “I’m out of practice.”

“Really?” I dig, an eyebrow cocked. “Prim told me you’ve been singing more recently.”

“Prim seems to have told you a lot,” she snaps, eyes flashing. “Maybe I should tell you that she’s still scared of the dark and she wet the bed until she was nine.”

My gut rattles with a poorly suppressed snicker that Katniss realizes is directed at her rather than Prim, if her glare is any indication. “Okay,” I draw out, eyes wide. “Well, I didn’t need to know that, but that’s great.”

Her face only gets more testy as she petulantly crosses her arms. “So only my embarrassing traits are funny?”

“You’re more fun to tease,” I inform her with a grin. Despite this, I decide not to mention her apology to Darius, as I figure it would just make her shut down even more. Instead, I slink up to her, rest my fingertips on her knees and disarm her with a kiss. It takes a few seconds, but works like a charm. Pulling back just as her fingers graze my face, I propose, “So, do you still want to come over more, like you said?”

“Yeah,” she blinks in surprise. “You’re okay with that?”

“Totally. I was just…” My insecurities are too embarrassing to admit, so I dismiss that train of thought with a nonchalant wave. “Never mind, it really doesn’t matter. It was all in my head.”

“Got a lot going on up there?” Katniss teases.

“Like you’re one to talk,” comes my speedy retort.

Shaking her head, the girl lifts her eyes to the sky. “And yet you say I’m brainless.”

When I get back to the barracks later that afternoon, I run into Captain Stark as she’s leaving the Commune. A tiny jolt hits my gut, but I keep it from showing on my face. As she brushes by me to enter the adjacent kitchen, I try a little, “Hey, Purnia.”

She turns just long enough to make eye contact and nod. “Agent.”

The formal term of address is not encouraging, but it encourages me to continue the interaction anyway, because it irritates me. Annoying people who clearly want you to go away until they pay attention to you is a specialty of the youngest child. Changing course, I follow behind her and lean against the entranceway. “Are you coming to the Hob later?”

“Maybe,” she muses coolly, grabbing a glass from one of the cupboards. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, you _should_ think about it,” I contend.

She doesn’t pause in the act of opening the nearest fridge when she replies, “I’ll keep that in mind.” She then spends an inordinate amount of time pretending to look for something or decide what to drink, pointedly ignoring me. Something in me snaps in this moment, and I step forward and slam the fridge door shut, moving into her space and earning myself a stern glare.

“So this is how it’s gonna be, huh?” I demand. “Act like everything’s totally normal when we’re on-duty, then pretend like you don’t even know me off the clock?”

“I’m a professional, Agent Mason,” she answers evenly. “Unlike many of my subordinates, not to name any names, I’m able to keep my personal life from affecting my work.”

A low whistle parts my lips. “Harsh, Purn.”

“And this is unexpected?” she retorts. “From the girl who calls me ‘the ice queen’ behind my back and thinks I don’t know about it?” A bit of emotion has now seeped into her expression. I don’t know if it’s hurt or what, but it catches me off guard and makes me change tactics, get to the heart of the matter.

“Look, I’m sorry, Purnia,” I say, dropping my aggressive posture. “About what I said.” Now it’s her turn to be caught off guard, blinking in the face of the unprecedented apology. “I appreciate how you’ve gone out of your way to look after me,” I admit. “I… I haven’t had a lot of people care about me, in my life. I’m not used to it.”

My commanding officer recovers enough severity to lift a critical eyebrow. “And that’s an excuse to antagonize the people who do?”

A charming grin spreads my lips, and I lean against the fridge with a pompous head tilt. “I antagonize everybody, Captain,” I assure her cheekily. “You’re nothing special.”

Her mouth wavers as she fights off a smirk despite herself, eventually settling in pursed lips. “I don’t understand why I’m so fond of you, Mason,” she reflects, shaking her head.

Slinking a step closer, I purr, “Well, I tend to have that effect on women.” My fingertips trace down her jawline as I forbode, “Jason better watch his back.”

Suddenly, my wrist is being wrenched away in an iron grip. “Don’t push your luck,” she warns me lowly.

“My luck?” I scoff, shaking my hand free. “You’re barely talking to me.”

“Yes,” she snaps. “Trust me, when I’m angry, that’s good luck.”

A chuckle escapes my lips and I speculate, “I think you’re more like me than you realize.”

“No,” she replies solemnly. “You’re the one who’s just figuring that out.”

A few seconds of curious peering later, I conclude, “So you do know why you’re fond of me.”

“Among other reasons.” Releasing her tense posture in a heavy sigh, she runs a hand through her hair and catches my eye. “I forgive you, Johanna. But don’t bring it up ever again, if you don’t want to get punched in the face.”

The lack of professionalism in that statement is so unlike Purnia that I can’t help the way my eyebrows peak. She responds with a dismissive headshake. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, okay? So just stop talking.”

“That’s like telling Darius to stop talking,” I chuckle, simply because buffering such a statement with a joke is sometimes the only way I can take it.

“Darius is slightly better at minding his own business,” she retorts.

“Bullshit!” I scoff, honestly offended. “Darius is the busiest of the busybodies. Good thing it wasn’t him who overheard you. He would have spread it to Tory and the whole barracks would know by now.”

A slight tilt of Purnia’s head is somehow menacing enough to put me on my heels. “Is that a threat?” she demands with an eerie calmness.

Gulping mutely, I shake my head. “No.”

“Good,” she asserts. “Because I’m not the only one with secrets around here. At least mine couldn’t get me tried as a traitor.”

Another impressed whistle pierces the air. “Now _that’s_ a threat.”

“Not really,” she shrugs, deflating noticeably. “I don’t want to fight with you, Johanna, okay? You were right, we’re friends.” Her expression is strangely unguarded as she says this, and I can only blink in surprise. “Despite what you think, I’m not some kind of heartless bitch. I’m doing what I have to do to get by.”

“So am I,” I claim.

Purnia observes me silently through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before giving me a seemingly satisfied nod. Then she motions for me to step back and opens the fridge again. After pouring herself a cup of orange juice from a carton with her name on it, she takes a casual sip and returns her attention to me. “Like I said before,” she warns me gravely, “be careful.”

As she takes her leave, I call after her, “I think you said you liked me, too!”

Taking a few backwards steps so she can meet my eye again, she repeats, “Again, don’t push your luck.” But she’s smiling.

***

As promised, Katniss and I make an effort to spend more time together over the next little while. We do meet up in the forest a couple times before she hunts on our off days, but I prefer she use that time to practice the skills I’ve been teaching her, so most of our additional interactions take the form of sleepovers at the barracks every few days or so. Sometimes we sit outside on warmer evenings and enjoy the breeze and sounds of the forest, others we spend entirely indoors cuddling on my bed, talking and kissing. Kissing and talking, as the days pass.

Though I can feel my girlfriend’s rising hunger in the catches of her breath and clenching of her fingers in my hair or my shirt, I’ve noticed she doesn’t let her hands wander much. Not even the time when she’s lying on top of me and I graze my fingers over her lower back under the hem of her shirt, despite the fact that it makes her lips noticeably more eager. I don’t know if she’s holding herself back for my benefit or if it’s because she’s not ready to go any farther, but I don’t push, just like I said I wouldn’t.

Our sleepovers occur fairly often but aren’t exactly regular, so I end up itching for her presence when I don’t see her for days at a time. Like I said, she’s a drug. My withdrawal symptoms include fidgety hands, lack of mental clarity, and a painful knot in my gut. Two weeks after her unannounced visit during the storm, I lose my mind a little and show up at the Hob on a Saturday. With Katniss's birthday rapidly approaching, I justify this by telling myself I'm here to get her something nice. In reality, I know Katniss is practical and not really materialistic, so she’ll probably sell anything I give her unless it’s extremely useful or has a lot of sentimental value. If she accepts it at all, that is. But what does it matter when it’s all a fantasy anyway? Under the flimsy excuse, I know exactly why I'm here.

My lover’s eyes burn into me from afar as I take a cursory tour of a few booths that sell various knickknacks, none of which strike me as even remotely appropriate for a gift for the girl in question. Once I notice her and Gale splitting up to barter for more specific things their families need, as they often do, I approach her under the pretense of craving some fresh meat. It’s not really a lie, if taken colloquially.

As Katniss lays out her remaining kills on a table for me to take my pick, I catch her mouth curling smugly. “Couldn’t wait to see me?” she teases, eyes on her selection.

“No,” I admit outright. “I couldn’t.”

Her top lip sucks into her teeth through a moment of silence, then she finally looks up. “You just saw me the other day,” she says calculatedly. It doesn’t go over my head. She’s purposely humiliating me by turning our earlier conversation around on me. But I honestly don’t care, and I give into it willingly.

“That’s not enough,” I confess in surrender. Her lips purse as she tries to contain a full-blown smirk, and I lean in a little and whisper, “Do you want to come over? After you drop your stuff off at home?”

“I can’t tonight.” I make an effort to hide my visceral disappointment behind an exaggerated pout, and Katniss laughs apologetically. “I promised Prim some ghost stories by the fire.”

“Because she’s not already afraid of the dark,” I snort.

“Not if I’m there,” she points out. With an affectionate smile, she muses, “I think she likes to be scared and then comforted.”

“So she likes the attention,” I pose with a quirked eyebrow.

“She’s a youngest child,” Katniss reminds me sassily. My pout makes a reappearance and she laughs again. Then she seems to catch herself, and sweeps her eyes around covertly. “Better pick something, Agent,” she whispers. “Don’t want to seem suspicious.”

Now sifting through her kills, I take the opportunity to lean a bit closer. With our heads less than a foot apart, I only have to breathe, “I hate this.”

“Me too.”

When Katniss looks up from pocketing my money, there’s a notable strain in her jaw, a longing in her eyes. “I’ll stay tomorrow, okay?” she offers. “After training.”

“Okay.” That single word catches in my chest, and I have to clear my throat, ducking my head in embarrassment. My sheepish eyes catch Katniss chewing her cheek with an intent gaze as they flit back up.

“Meet me out back in ten minutes,” she says, just before she clears out. A thrill of anticipation hits my gut. This is probably a very bad idea. But I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.

It’s a warmer evening, and therefore a comfortable if uneasy wait behind the building. When Katniss finally shows, her wanting expression makes it clear that I hadn’t miscalculated her intentions. I feel the need to at least pretend to protest with, “Katniss, you said it. We have to be careful.”

“This is careful,” she husks, then frames my face with her hands and kisses me full on the mouth. Her eyes dart around in search of witnesses, and I guess she finds none because she doesn’t stop. “I just couldn’t let you go… without a kiss goodbye,” she explains between kisses.

It’s ill-advised, but I’m too out of my head to stop myself from backing her up against the wall and pinning her there with my body. A little whimper squeaks out in response, and her elbows come up and rest on my shoulders, giving me access to her whole torso. Not that I’m greedy. My hands keep to her hips except for a short foray over her stomach. Hers soon tire of tangling in my hair and move down to twist into my shirt while her breathing slips further out of hand. Strong arms pull me closer, and I can feel her heart battering wildly against my chest. This is the closest I’ve ever felt Katniss come to losing control, and it’s the least opportune situation, go figure. But I understand why, in my mind and in my humming core. If Katniss is anything like me, and I know she is, the danger turns her on.

***

Something appears to be eating at Katniss when we meet on Tuesday. It’s not like she’s intentionally distant with me or anything, but she seems preoccupied. She says very little through the focused session on throwing knives, and she carries herself a little differently. Still with confidence and purpose, but heavier, in a way. I can’t help but be a bit concerned, but I doubt she’ll tell me what’s on her mind if I directly ask her, so I don’t.

As I escort her a short distance on her way to meet Gale, Katniss starts humming. Faraway eyes stare ahead and occasionally up as she projects the brief, melancholy tune. When it ends, a faint refrain of some mockingjays greets our ears, and a wistful smile comes over her face.

“You’ve been singing more sad songs lately,” I remark as casually as possible, observing her carefully.

“They help me feel,” is all she says. Several paces later, she stops and finally looks at me, really looks at me. Her teeth pull her lip through a long moment of thought, culminating in, “Tomorrow’s your other day off, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer cautiously, unsure of what she intends to do with that information.

“Meet me at the tree in the morning,” she directs me, still a touch absent-minded. 

“Like before school?”

“No, more like nine or so,” she replies. “I’m playing hooky.”

My eyes widen considerably and I query, “You know that can get you in some serious trouble, right?” Not that I'm one to talk. But skipping to train for the Hunger Games is another animal. Between my own experiences and anecdotes from Katniss, I’ve come to the realization that school in the districts primarily functions to indoctrinate the children with the Capitol's ideals and worldview and to teach them district-specific skills. Anyone who's enrolled in the candidacy program hardly needs any help in either department.

Katniss shrugs, “I’ll take my chances. If they come asking, my mom will say she kept me home sick, anyway.”

“Okay,” I agree uncertainly.

“Bring a lunch,” she adds. “We'll be gone until the mid-afternoon.”

My curiosity now piqued even further, I have to ask, “Where are we going?”

There’s an ominous gravity in her tone as she tells me, “On a field trip.”

***

The next morning, I slink out of the barracks with shifty eyes, pulling my regulation jacket tighter around me. My thumbs hook under the straps of my backpack as I take a final look back after I let the fence recoil shut behind me. Leaving isn’t so bad, because most of my neighbors are on-shift, but getting back in may be tricky. No civilians in the barracks, no unauthorized use of government vehicles, and only standard-issue clothes outside the barracks are about the only three rules it seems are enforced with any regularity around here, and I’m breaking my second of the three. I doubt any of my comrades would officially report me if they saw me coming in in casual slacks, but word gets around, and I don’t need to be the subject of any more gossip.

The hollow log Katniss and I stashed our weapons in the day of the hailstorm is the perfect dumping ground for the jacket, and from there I continue on to our tree dressed like, well, nothing. A civilian. Not a Peacekeeper. I know Katniss has reconciled my job with our relationship, or is at the very least ignoring the issue, but I want the chance to spend time with her without the constant reminder of who I am either by virtue of my clothes or our location.

Katniss drops down from her perch in the tree when I arrive, wearing her hunting jacket and game bag but notably no bow or quiver. She has a knife tucked in her belt, and that’s about it. So we’re not going hunting, which was my working theory up until this point. Before I can ask, Katniss has a question for me.

“Can't you get in trouble for that?” she points out, eyeing up my attire.

“I'll take my chances,” I retort with a smug little smirk. She dryly raises an eyebrow, and I argue, “Technically, I could get in trouble for being out here at all. I doubt what I’m wearing while I’m outside the district without permission really matters.”

Katniss shrugs and strolls off in what I estimate to be a west-southwest direction. “Your call.”

We must hike for about two hours into what appears to be the middle of nowhere, climbing shallow hills and breaking through overgrown greenery. Katniss seems to know where she’s going, though, so I don’t question it. The sun is high above us by the time the forest thins out and we come upon a small lake nestled in a valley. This is our destination. I know not because of how picturesque it is, but by the shadow that has cast itself over my girlfriend’s face. She stops, surveying the water quietly but seeming to be elsewhere. It’s only when she finally speaks that I understand.

“I haven’t been here in over four years,” she murmurs. That timeline is telling, and I take her hand with a reassuring squeeze. She barely returns the gesture before dropping my hand and shrugging her game bag off her shoulder, discarding it at the foot of a tree at the forest’s edge. Dropping my rucksack beside her bag, I watch intently as she shoves both hands in her pockets and edges closer to the shore. I follow a few feet behind her, studying her demeanor, stopping when she stops. The way she stares out at the water, I know there must be a thousand thoughts running through her head, but it takes a while for her to express any more of them.

“We used to hunt here,” she tells me, eyes still on the scenery. “Ducks, mostly. And their eggs. They nest here in the summer.” Shrugging, she surveys the empty shallows. “Might be another month or two before they show.”

“So why are we here, then?” I probe gently. Katniss is hardly the type to waste time at all, let alone on the sentimental.

“To sit with my pain,” she explains, finally turning to look me in the eye. “To mourn, like you said I should.” There’s the practicality I’m used to.

Ducking my head for emphasis but still looking her in the eye, I check, “And you’re sure you want me here with you?”

“Yes,” she replies with little emotion but much confidence. “I’m sure.” With that, her fingers slip back between mine.

She leads us along the shore toward a small building nearby. “I used to play house there,” she reminisces with a hint of a sad smile. “My dad made me a little broom and everything.”

My mouth quirks wryly. “Who knew you were so domesticated?”

“Right?” she chuckles darkly. Nonetheless, her eyes have a playful glint in them as they catch mine again. “Look how that turned out.”

“You’re wild,” I proclaim, “and you always will be.”

She nods pensively, looking away. “I hope so.”

Katniss doesn’t say another word until we reach the little house, if you can call it that, and opens the door. It’s even smaller from the inside, a single room of about 12x12 feet. The whole structure is made of concrete, the only notable feature a fireplace up on a raised hearth. A humble collection of wood is stashed in one corner. “Surprised it’s still there,” she mumbles.

“Who else would use it?” I point out.

“True.” She squats and picks up the small broom made of twigs and twine, turns it over in her hands. “He had deft hands, like Gale.”

“And how would you know about the deftness of Gale’s hands?” I drawl, waggling my eyebrows.

Katniss's eyes narrow. “Because I watch him set snares all the time,” she scoffs. “God, Mason, you’re such a pervert.”

“That’s all part of my charm,” I inform her with a saucy grin. She doesn’t argue.

We stroll a ways along the shore, Katniss pointing out various landmarks. An area in the shallows where they would dig for katniss tubers. A grassy patch where the ducks nested and she would hunt for their eggs. Foundations of various other houses, larger ones, that didn’t stand the test of time. A large fallen tree she used to climb and play on when she was a little girl. We clamber onto the mossy bark for nostalgia’s sake, though it’s not difficult as a full-grown woman. Not the same. The lack of satisfaction is clear in her face.

“The best part was swimming,” she reflects as we make our way back to the shack. “Looked forward to it every summer. He taught me when I was really young, like so young I don’t even really remember.”

“He’d risk taking a toddler out in the woods?” I gape disbelievingly. “Couldn’t you both get shot for that?”

“I wanted to go with him,” she answers plainly. “I always had a sense of adventure, was never even scared as long as I was with him. My mom said we were kindred spirits from the start.” She chews on her lip, eyes distant again. “Like her and Prim.”

Tugging on her hand, I pull her to a reluctant stop. “They love you, you know,” I declare with a meaningful gaze. “You’re not alone.”

“I know.” She fidgets and drops her eyes to the dirt. “It’s not the same. Even Gale doesn’t really understand me, but Dad always did.” Her eyebrows twitch. “Or at least it felt like it.” Her covert snuffle and quick swipe under her nose are the first signs of her impending tears, signs I refrain from remarking on.

“Anyway,” she digresses throatily, “we’d swim around after we’d finished our hunting and gathering. When we were all hot and sweaty in the afternoon.” Her eyes flicker with another memory that pops a short chuckle out of her. “I remember we’d get back and my mom would pretend not to recognize me because I was so clean. ‘Who’s this girl you picked up, love?’” she mimics in a squeaky voice. “‘Some kid from town? Little Katniss is at least two shades darker.’”

That makes me laugh despite her wistful tone. “So that’s why you’re darker than Prim?” I tease her. “Because you’re a slob?”

“Nah, it’s because I’m my father’s child,” she smirks sadly. “Also, the sunlight. Prim does get pretty tanned in the summer, if she goes outside enough. Darker than your average Townie, anyway. But she’s indoors a lot of the time. Not like me.”

“Like your mom,” I counter, finishing the thought. As Katniss nods her agreement, another thought crosses my mind. Nudging her playfully to cover my unease, I inquire, “Has she ever pretended not to recognize you when you come back from spending the night with me?”

“She’s never mentioned it. I don’t think she wants to know,” Katniss admits flatly. “Obviously I’ve been somewhere in town, where they have proper bathing facilities. Best to think I’ve been with Madge. Not with some Townie boy, or worse.”

Worse means a Peacekeeper, certainly. Cray, most likely. While he has a habit of taking girls into his house, obviously the average Peacekeeper can’t just take some poor Seam girl home to play with. Not without putting her in danger, at least. I can see why Mrs. Everdeen would just rather not ask where her daughter’s been all night.

“I guess the Townie boys weren’t your mom’s type, huh?” I deadpan.

Something halfway between a snort and a sob bursts from Katniss’s throat, and she nods vigorously, avoiding my gaze. Hers lands somewhere beyond me, and then her shoulder brushes mine as she pushes past me to whatever has caught her eye. She stoops down and collects something off the ground, tosses it in her hand, testing its weight. A smooth stone, I realize, as she sidearms it into the water. It doesn’t bounce once.

“Damn it,” she mutters, scouring the ground for another choice stone. This goes on for a short while, Katniss uttering curses at her poor attempts at skipping stones while she tries to deaden her expression. The significance of it is lost on me. Maybe he was good at it. Maybe she was too, at some point. Or maybe he tried to teach her and she never could quite get the hang of it. Perhaps it has no meaning at all and she just needs a distraction from the swell of emotions. She doesn’t say, so all I can do is speculate.

It’s not long before her form breaks down in frustration and she’s just chucking rocks into the lake with increasing fervor. It culminates in her hurling a sizeable rock into the water with a resounding cry of, “Fuck!”

Wild eyes flash to my face as Katniss turns, flushed and panting, seething. Seemingly unsatisfied with what she sees there, she spins back around and marches toward the concrete structure not twenty yards from us. I follow her with concern but don’t intervene until she cocks her fist and I realize what she’s about to do.

“Whoa!” I shout, springing forward and snagging her arm. “No, don’t hit that,” I urge her as she levels a death glare at me. “You’ll break your hand.”

Katniss’s nostrils flare as she growls out each syllable of, “Get off of me.”

The death and destruction promised in her eyes is all too familiar to me. It’s what I felt as I hacked the woods around my house to pieces in fits of anger, between my spells of paralyzation. Aching to relieve the injustice weighing on me, find some way to push back, but being in no position to better my situation. Just as I was never going to be in the Games, Katniss’s father is never coming back. She needs to hurt something, and I’d rather it be me than her, so I only strengthen my grip and my resolve as I shake my head.

This is the third time Katniss has taken a swing at me, and the first time I’m prepared for it. My free hand catches hers as it flies my way, then closes around her wrist. Both our arms now crossed up in front of us in a deadlock, her face hardens and she uses all her strength to push me as far as she can. But I retain my hold on her, so she grips my shirt and wrestles me to the ground.

Katniss Everdeen is all about struggle, and that’s what she needs right now. I’m more than happy to oblige. It’s a heated battle as we grapple in the dirt, gnarling and swearing, but it’s controlled at least on my end. My intention is to restrain her but allow enough wiggle room to work out her fury, but perhaps I’ve taught her too well, because she’s so fuelled by rage that I don’t even have to let her win. Wrists now pinned above my head, hips anchored by her weight, I raise my eyebrows and await a physical or verbal strike.

But it never comes. All that hits my face is a tear rolling off Katniss’s jaw. Another is traversing the trail it blazed down her cheek while more pool in her eyes as her heavy breaths start catching painfully in her throat. When a particularly hard sob crumples her face, she drops it in shame and buries it in my chest, hands releasing mine to slide down and dig into the meat of my shoulders. Choked sobs rattle my ribcage as I slowly bring my arms down to encircle her, but the soothing gesture of my hands rubbing her back only seems to make her more determined to pull herself together.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Cry.” My fingers wind into her hair as she continues to fight. “Acknowledge it. That’s why we’re here, remember?”

Though her fists only clench my shirt tighter, a couple shudders later her core relaxes under my hands and the tears start flowing freely to the sound of the wails muffled in my chest. I trace my fingertips up and down her back, doing my best to ease it out of her, ignoring the lump growing in my throat in response to the flood soaking my shirt. Katniss in pain still isn’t something I can handle. I doubt it ever will be.

We stay like that for some time, until her eyes dry up and her breaths resume their normal pattern, though still slightly labored. It’s me who sits up, forcing her to as well. Now kneeling astride my lap, she eyes me uncertainly, and I cup her sticky cheeks with both my hands, tilt my face up to place a kiss between her eyebrows.

“Thank you,” she whispers shyly.

My thumb grazes the corner of her mouth. “Feeling better?”

“Lighter,” she shrugs. “Tired.”

“Come on, then.” I guide her to her feet and over to the concrete house, where we sit and slump back against the wall facing the water. Her head falls to the side to rest on my shoulder while her hand crawls into my lap to find mine. We never talk and hardly move in the next half hour, listening to the bird calls and watching as the odd fish makes a ripple in the placid surface. The midday sun beams down on us and nearly puts me to sleep with its warmth.

Katniss’s lips are what drag me back to full consciousness, grazing over my cheek and migrating to my mouth. My barely responsive lips turn hers up in amusement, the fingertips of her free hand now grazing delicately over my cheekbone. She only seems to get more lost in the lazy kisses as they continue, fingers threading in my hair and eyes fluttering shut, but there’s one major distraction holding me back.

“Katniss?”

My words are all but swallowed by her lips, and from her lack of reaction, I almost think she didn’t hear me until she absentmindedly hums, “Mm?”

“I’m fucking starving.” As her eyes ease open and lips slow to a stop, I momentarily panic and correct myself, “Hungry, I mean.” Katniss’s light-hearted chuckle, however, allows me to relax again.

“It’s okay, I know what you meant.” Brushing a loose piece of hair behind my ear, she plants one final kiss on my lips. “There’s some jerky in my bag.”

Wincing as she gingerly gets to her feet, Katniss pulls on my hand she’s still gripping and coaxes me to standing as well. We straighten up slowly, stretching out our aching limbs before we make our way back to where we left our belongings. Her longer legs allow her to arrive a few strides ahead of me and extract her food before I can even unzip my bag.

“Here,” she offers, handing me a stick of dried meat wrapped in thin paper. It’s unlike her to share, except with her hunting partner, but that’s exactly why I don’t question the gesture or even consider refusing. Perhaps this is her small way of paying me back for her meals at the barracks, or my hospitality in general. I haven’t told her the extra food credits are cutting into my paychecks, though I think she kind of knows and just doesn’t want to overtly acknowledge it for the sake of her pride. As my teeth rip away a small stringy chunk, she reflects through her own mouthful, “It’s my favorite if I’m going to be in the woods for a while and don’t have much food to bring. Takes time to eat.” Swallowing, she adds, “It’s perfect for hollow days.”

My brow crinkles. “What’s a hollow day?”

“That’s when you stay hungry no matter what you put in your belly,” is Katniss’s surprisingly casual answer.

I give my head a dismissive shake and inform her, “Your food just isn’t rich enough, that’s all.”

“No shit,” she snorts. My face immediately flushes and I duck it into my collar. Fucking idiot.

“Sorry,” I mumble sheepishly. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I thought that was my job,” she deadpans in response.

“You must be rubbing off on me,” I hypothesize, rubbing my chin in thought. “We’ve been spending too much time together.”

“Impossible.”

That one word breaks my facade, and my eyes dart over to her. She doesn’t appear to have been joking, and that actually makes me more uncomfortable. I’m forced to swallow and blink away. “You don’t know me that well if you think that,” I warn her. I catch her eye again. “I’ve been told I’m truly insufferable.”

A poorly-suppressed grin makes Katniss’s mouth waver. “You are.”

The salt in the preserved meat dries out my tongue, and that combined with the sweat pouring out of me from the baking heat of the sun makes me down most of my bottle of water before I’m even halfway through the stick.

“You should’ve told me you were bringing salty food,” I complain. “I would’ve brought more water.” Jerking my head toward the lake, I inquire, “That’s not drinkable, isn’t is?”

Katniss answers with a clueless shrug. “My dad always told me not to, so I never tried. I’d just drink the water he brought and use that to cool off.”

As I wipe more beads of sweat from my forehead, my gaze settles on the water again, making me pause halfway through the motion. Actually, that’s a great idea. For multiple reasons. Katniss must catch the wheels turning in my head, because her face darkens warningly.

“Johanna, no.”

“Johanna, yes.” The package of meat lands at the foot of the tree as I break into a grin.

“It’s April, you moron!” she protests fruitlessly while I peel the shirt off my back. “Don’t let the warm air fool you - the water doesn’t warm up until like July. You’ll catch your death in there.”

“Oh well,” I shrug nonchalantly.

Katniss gives her head a resignedly futile shake. “Do you even know how to swim?”

“Kind of.” Shimmying my pants down my legs, I explain, “There’s a recreation center in the main town in Two, and it has a pool. I took some lessons in case there was a lake in my arena.” One of my hands tosses my pants atop the discarded shirt before extending out to Katniss. “Join me.”

“No,” she states unequivocally. 

“And you say you can swim?” I cock my head skeptically. “I’m calling bullshit.”

Her smoky eyes narrow with suspicion. “Is this just an excuse to get me out of my clothes?”

My devious smile contrasts with my innocent shrug just before I reach behind my back to unclasp my bra. Katniss struggles to keep her face neutral, but I see the way her eyes still widen a touch despite her efforts, the way her throat bobs subtly as she gulps. Her tongue and teeth run unconsciously over her lips as I slide the straps down my arms and drop it onto the pile. Still, she admonishes me silently with her eyes.

“What?” I ask innocently. “I don’t want to walk back in wet underwear.” My thumbs hook under the waistband of my one remaining garment, deftly sliding it over my hips. When I look up from kicking it aside, I catch Katniss overtly staring at the areas I’ve just uncovered. When she finally drags her eyes up to my face and catches my shit-eating grin, she turns bright red.

“What do you say?” Cocking an eyebrow, I lift my hands to shoulder height and cycle them as though I'm doggy paddling. Katniss still staring silently, I toss her a wink and slink toward the lake, continuing to eye her over my shoulder as I offer her the view of my muscled back and ass, which she does not pass up.

The chill shoots up my legs and makes me shudder the second my toes hit the water, but if I back out now I’ll never hear the end of it. My strides only get more deliberate the more of my body is submerged and screaming that this is a bad idea, though I do stop just before it hits my ladybits. Partially because I know it’s better just to jump in than ease them into the water, and partially to shoot Katniss a smirk over my shoulder. She raises her eyebrows with a nod, silently daring me to continue, and I don’t disappoint.

The icy water strikes me like a hundred knives to the ribcage and makes all my sensitive areas constrict painfully when I take a deep breath and plunge in. Much of that air is knocked from my lungs in a reflexive yelp, which is thankfully muffled by the water. When I resurface, I whip my head around to get my bearings and locate Katniss, who I find is still watching me with the same expression.

I’m so cold I can barely breathe, but I suck in enough air to call out, “Come on in, it’s not that bad!” The circles I start swimming are meant to be read as out of boredom, but in actuality they’re to keep me from freezing my tits off. Taking another breath, I submerge again and kick my way a little deeper so I don’t have to feel the grasses at the bottom tickling my toes. It’s even colder the farther out I venture, of course.

By the time I’ve turned a couple somersaults and popped up, Katniss is approaching the lake’s edge. This time, it’s not the shock of the cold that steals my breath, but the fact that she’s clad only in her bra and underwear. My jaw wants to drop as I take in the muscle definition in her thighs, the smooth skin of her stomach and its faint trail of hair leading to places yet to be discovered. She’s fucking gorgeous. I want nothing more than to trace my lips, fingers, tongue over her contours, make art on that olive canvas. But I play it cool, eyeing up her remaining attire with distaste. “Pussy.”

“Pervert,” she retorts, not missing a beat. Inching closer, she toes the water and immediately recoils. “Holy shit!”

“Of course, you’re from Twelve,” I taunt her, rolling my eyes. “I should have expected you’d be a weakling. You don’t know cold until you’ve done a winter in the mountains.”

My girlfriend’s features darken in a way that excites every inch of me. “Shut your fucking mouth, Mason.”

My voice drops an octave as I snap back, “Make me.” And that was precisely what was needed, as evidenced by the fire in her eyes. Katniss Everdeen never backs down from a challenge, especially from someone as competitive as me.

“I think I will,” she snarls, stomping out into the lake, now seemingly immune to the temperature. When the water reaches the midpoint of her thighs, she brings her hands together above her head and slices into the water with a shallow dive. She’s better than I expected, kicking and wriggling like a fish under the water until she surfaces a few feet from me. Her lower lip is quivering from the cold in a way that I can’t help but find enticing, but despite that, she tosses her hands up like it doesn’t bother her in the slightest. “See?”

That’s not exactly how I meant for her to shut my mouth, but I’ll take it. A grin and a wink convey how pleased I am, then I take off for a little paddle. Katniss passes me almost immediately and starts showing off with little underwater twists of her lithe body. Typical. When I catch up with her, she literally swims a circle around me and then heads back the way we came. Expelling a heavy sigh, I follow her back, watching as she dives and turns somersaults, much better and faster than I did. I guess I’ve finally found an area other than archery in which she could teach me a thing or two. And she’s loving it.

We fool around a bit more once we’re closer to shore again, laughing and splashing and trying not to admit how cold we are. We must be in a deeper spot than before, because at one point she takes a dive and I lose sight of her. She doesn’t surface for at least twenty seconds, and I’m just starting to get worried when I feel the swell of a wave beneath me and she suddenly shoots out of the water not a foot away.

“Surprise?” she asks, eyebrow cocked, trembling lips forced into a grin.

“Damn it,” I mutter. “I thought maybe you were dead.”

Her ensuing laughter makes her shake just a little, but once the movement has started, she can’t control it. Nor the quickness of her breath or the rare pallor of her face.

“I think that’s all I can handle,” she pants. “It’s way too cold out here for me. But by all means, give yourself hypothermia.” She’s about to turn and swim back to shore, but I snatch her arm before she can make a move.

“I’ll keep you warm,” I promise her huskily, just as I pull her into my body and press my lips against hers. Her sharp intake of breath only heightens my desire, and I circle my arms around her neck as she tentatively returns the kiss. However, I’m making a conscious effort to keep my hands to myself in spite of our proximity and her state of undress. But when her arms envelop me and her fingers trail down my bare back, I can’t help but arch into her, pressing my hard nipples into her upper chest and making us both gasp.

“Hanna,” she breathes, so lowly I can barely hear her, eyes closed and head tipped back in want.

“Yeah, brainless?” I whisper back with a teasing grin. Her eyes open into indignant slits, but she only delays a couple seconds before reconnecting our lips. She starts softly, but when my breathing quickens, hers follows suit and her fingers splay over my back and draw me in even closer. Hard buds now poke my ribs through the light padding of her bra, though I probably can’t take credit for that physiological reaction. I’ve been stiff enough to cut glass since I jumped in.

Our kiss grows heated despite the temperature, all sharp breaths and tongue and fervor. She doesn’t seem to mind when my legs wrap themselves around her hips. In fact, her right hand starts to roam around the side of my ribcage. She falters, though, when her thumb brushes the swell of my breast.

“It’s okay, Katniss,” I assure her gently, covering her hand with one of mine. “I want you to touch me.”

Her teeth play at her lip, but after another moment’s hesitation, she works up the ovaries to complete the journey. I hiss inwardly through my teeth in a mix of pleasure and pain as her fingers brush over my hypersensitive nipple, sending a jolt of arousal straight to my groin. Emboldened and curious, she cups her hand under the heft of the breast and swipes her thumb over the peak again.

“Fuck,” I draw out in a moan, arching into her touch.

Her eyes grow wide at this discovery and she brings her other hand around to mirror the first one’s actions. Now with both her thumbs exploring the tight nerve bundles, I am truly in danger of losing control. My basest instincts urge me to climb her ribcage and push her head down, make her warm mouth envelop the poor aching buds, but even I can have a little class when necessary, so I claw at her upper back to keep my hands occupied. Her mouth finds its way to my skin, anyway, nuzzling into the crook of my shoulder and working its way up my neck with hot open-mouthed kisses. But when she rolls my nipples between her thumbs and the sides of her forefingers, I can’t help my reaction. Can’t help the way my head tips back with a needy whine, nor the way my hips jerk, grinding my exposed pussy against her stomach in a desperate search for friction. That’s when her thumbs still and her head pulls back just a hair.

Katniss lifts her face and presses her lips into mine again, still breathing heavily through her nose. Her hands don’t move, which could be interpreted as either a good or bad sign, as she kisses me with a passion I’ve rarely seen from her before. It gets to a point where I can’t tell if her violent shaking is from desire or the cold, and she’s forced to pull away.

“Okay, Johanna, I really need to get out now,” she manages between her chattering teeth and heavy puffs of breath. “I’m f-freezing my ass off.” I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s also because I’ve just pushed her beyond her comfort zone. Even if her body is ready to go that far, her mind may be lagging behind, and I can appreciate that. But she doesn’t say so, and I don’t ask.

“Well, we don’t want you getting sick again, now do we?” is the question I pose instead. Her head shakes emphatically and mine follows suit with an air of condescension before jerking toward where we came from. “Come on, Everdeen.” I flip over and do a lazy backstroke back to shore so it seems I’m less desperate than her to get out of the water. Also maybe to give her more of a view.

When we’re on solid ground again, still shuddering in the warm air, I wring out my hair and shake myself dry as best I can, then wipe the residual drips away with my shirt. Glancing over at Katniss as I start to redress, I find she has turned away and is in the midst of unclasping her bra. My eyes linger for just a moment before I force them away as she moves her hands to peel off her wet underwear, chiding myself about showing a little respect. In fact, I now make a point of fully turning my back as well. The moment is over, and I feel like nudity out of context would still make her uncomfortable. As much as I generally enjoy that, I’ve probably done enough of it for one day.

My shivers start to die once I'm fully clothed again. The shirt is a little damp, but will dry quickly enough in the heat. Katniss, on the other hand, is still visibly quaking and rubbing her arms even with the jacket. Her current lack of undergarments can't be helping.

“Regretting your choice now, Everdeen?” I tease her, nodding at the discarded articles she’s just hung from a branch.

“To get in, yes,” she retorts pointedly. “That was the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, Mason. By far.”

“But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

Her mouth flickers, but she mostly contains her smile. “If you say so.”

Still, that hint of a grin is enough to give me one of the full-on variety. I clap her on the shoulder, then scoop up my bag and amble toward the concrete hut. “I’ll start a fire.”

We open my contribution to lunch once we’re huddled sitting on the hearth, still trying to thaw out our chilled bones. Katniss accepts the second can of field rations willingly, even though it’s more of a donation than the jerky. In some ways, anyway. She starts out doggedly, but after a few bites, wrinkles her nose. “Hanna?”

“Yeah?”

“This is absolutely disgusting,” she declares with a touch of levity.

I chuckle. “Why do you think we’re all so eager to buy your game?”

“Your barracks food tastes a lot better,” she points out.

“It comes out of a machine, not a can,” I explain. “But it’s still nothing like a fresh kill.”

As much as she complains, she finishes every bite. I’d expect nothing less. Once the empty cans are set aside, I find myself watching her and the way the shadows of firelight play on her skin. It’s a little dark inside the structure despite the windows, most of which are busted, but the walls hold in some of the sorely-needed warmth, too. She turns her head and catches me, but I don’t avert my eyes and pretend I wasn’t looking. I only get more entranced by how the flames dance in her eyes.

Katniss slowly extends a hand and runs the back of it down my jaw, and I lean into her touch. When we lose contact, she hesitates a second but then cups my other cheek and leans forward to gently press a kiss to my lips. I respond in kind to the ginger but intimate gesture, eventually easing my tongue into things. This continues for a few minutes before she pulls back with a wry smile.

“I bet this is the last thing my dad ever thought he’d see here,” she muses, glancing around the room.

“He’d be proud of you,” I say without thinking. There was no thought needed, anyway.

She dips her head incredulously. “For kissing a Peacekeeper?”

“For growing up,” I counter. “As quick as you had to, especially. For keeping everyone alive.” I ghost my fingers over her cheek again, earnestly holding her gaze. “And for being brave enough to come say goodbye.”

The shadows leave my girlfriend’s face as her eyes widen just a touch, roaming my face. Her obvious swallow leads me to believe that she doesn’t respond with words because her throat is swelling up, but she does give a grateful nod. Then she hooks her fingertips under my chin to pull us back together, nuzzling my nose before resuming the kissing.

Not much later, I am curled up on the hearth, roasting with my head in her lap. I’m enjoying the moment despite the less than ideal sleeping surface, listening to the crackling of the fire behind us and savoring the earthy smell of woodsmoke as she all but lulls me to sleep with her gentle fingers in my hair. She must think she’s succeeded, because she says something I’m not sure she has the guts to say when I’m awake.

“I love you,” she whispers, twirling a small lock of hair around and around one of her fingers. “I love you.”

My eyelids flutter with surprise, but perhaps the bigger surprise is the subsequent lack of reaction from Katniss. She surely felt that twitch, but just continues her soft touches in the same rhythm. After a couple seconds of silence, though, I hear her take in an apprehensive breath, feel the slightest tremor in her hand. That’s when I understand that she wanted me to hear, that she wants me to know how she feels. And that she’s taking my lack of words as a bad sign. Didn’t I make the same assumption, not too long ago?

In an effort to ease her mind, I cup my hand around her knee and squeeze it gently. To say it’s okay, to say I feel the same. I don’t feel the need to break the sweet silence following that declaration with an explicit one of my own. She already knows I love her. More importantly, she knows she loves me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the beta, D7P. It's been a great year of working with you. Happy New Year to all, and best wishes in 2016!


	12. Favorites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains content that may bother some readers. I have said since the beginning that that will be the case in this fic and that I won't say anything specific in these warnings to avoid spoilers. But if someone is having a bad day and is easily triggered, it may be something to save for later.

Over the last couple of weeks before Katniss’s birthday, I continue to fail miserably to come up with anything to give her. My own incompetence only bothers me more once the deadline passes to get any packages on the military supply train for the first week of May, forcing me to think within the district. But I keep coming up blank.

With four days to go, I finally have a breakthrough. We’re out in the woods, practicing rapid fire with our bows, shooting up a series of targets at varying distances. Katniss is on maybe her fifth time through, and I’m watching from her shooting side as she tears up the course. Her accuracy is remarkable, but it’s her dramatic pull back that catches my attention as she releases her final arrow. That and her massive grin as she turns to me, eyes twinkling.

“Beat that, Agent,” she challenges me, dusting her flaming fingertips off on her pants.

A smile slowly curls my lips as I get a very bad and equally brilliant idea. Here I’ve been, trying to think of things Katniss might like, when I already know what she loves. 

Sauntering over, I give her smug ass a little shove. “No need to show off, sharpshooter.”

“Jealous I’m better than you?”

“We’ll see about that,” I forbode, eyeing her up slowly.

There’s no proving her wrong today, but that’s not the point. She has no idea what she’s in for. As we’re packing up, she begins, “So, I don’t think I’m going to be able to train on Thursday.”

Trying to hide my disappointment, I query, “Why not?”

“I have to go to the Justice Building after school. It’s the eighth, remember?” How could I forget?

“You still had enough time to train last month,” I comment. Full disclosure, I lowkey freaked out when Katniss still hadn’t shown up a good twenty minutes after she usually did, seeing as Gale had just kissed her a couple days before that. My brain jumped to ridiculous conclusions like him hurting her or her deciding it was him she wanted to be with after all. I felt like the brainless one when she raised an eyebrow and reminded me of the date upon her arrival. Pretty much everyone knows that your day of birth is your monthly pickup date for the grain and oil.

“Yeah, but I have to fill out all the paperwork again,” she explains.

“Oh. It never took me that long,” I shrug.

Katniss’s eyes just about bulge out of her head. “You took out tesserae?”

“Yeah, why not?” Despite the automatic crossing of my arms, I chuckle. “It freed up some of my parents’ money to pay for my trips to the Academy and what not. It’s not like I didn’t want to be in the Games or whatever. And it’s not uncommon in Career districts, anyway. Even if you get picked, chances are you won’t have to go. It’s a calculated risk lots of people are willing to take.”

Katniss’s eyebrows peak, though she doesn’t meet my gaze. “I never even thought of that,” she mumbles.

“Of course you didn’t, brainless.” When she catches my eye with a scowl, a genuine smile takes over my face. “How about you come over later, then, after you hunt? Fuck training, I just want to see you.”

“My mom will want to do up a nicer meal for me, spend some time with us,” she grumbles. With unenthused air quotes, she adds, “‘Family celebrations,’ you know? Because I totally want to celebrate signing my life away to the Capitol, again.”

I’m about to admit defeat and settle for seeing her another day when I’m struck by a new idea. “Okay, well what if I meet you for breakfast?”

“Maybe,” she muses, perking up a little. “I’d have to get up super early to meet you before work, though.”

“I might be able to swing something with Purnia, get half the day off or something. The whole crew’s in town right now, so it’s not like we’re short on bodies.”

“I thought you said she was mad at you,” says Katniss, eyes narrowing.

“That was weeks ago. I have my ways.” Her glare returns, and I innocently ask, “What? I can be very charming, you know. Gets me out of all sorts of trouble.”

“You’re not sleeping with her too, are you?”

“What?” From scanning her face, it seems that she’s serious. “No, I… why?”

“Oh, just the look you got on your face,” she ponders with an obviously sarcastic nonchalance. “That self-satisfied little smirk.”

“Are you jealous?” I purr, tipping my head. “That’s kinda sexy.”

“Don’t mock me,” she snaps. “You have a track record, I thought it was fair to ask.”

This observation, while perhaps true, rubs me the wrong way, and I find myself straightening up with a similarly inflammatory statement. “Yeah, it’s definitely fair. She’s hot.”

“Ugh,” scoffs Katniss.

Smirking fiendishly, I reach out to wind a tendril of her hair around my finger. “Oh, please, like you don’t have a thing for older women in positions of authority.”

Katniss slaps my hand away immediately. “Take that back.” When I patronizingly shake my head, she declares, “You being a Peacekeeper is a turnoff, if anything.”

My eyebrows fly up. “Glad to know you feel that way.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

Despite my now doubly bruised ego, I decide to let it go for now, not wanting to end yet another session on a bad note. It always leaves me feeling gross inside. Prowling a step closer, I remark, “Well, on the bright side, that means my personality more than makes up for it.” At my girlfriend’s scoff and eye roll, I suggest, “Or maybe it’s this gorgeous body. And this cute face.”

My fluttering eyelids finally crack her sullen expression, and she pulls me in for a kiss. After a couple pecks, I lean back to look her in the eye. “Look, you don’t need to go marking your territory around Purnia,” I assure her. “She has some secret long-distance boyfriend or something.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. It’s not like I want your boss knowing about us.”

“She already figured it out,” I inform her. “But she’s cool with it. So far, anyway.”

“That’s rather ominous,” Katniss mutters.

“Sorry, babe, people see what they see.”

“I know.” Chewing her lip, she scuffs the ground and sighs. “Maybe we need to give people less to see.”

My best “you’re full of shit” expression makes an appearance. “Okay, Little Miss ‘Let’s make out outside the Hob.’” Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t appease her, so I sigh and loosen up. “Look, it’s fine. It makes sense that people close to us would notice, okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So, is it a date?” I prod. “Breakfast with the birthday girl?” Wary gray eyes flick up and I specify, “Outside the district, don’t worry. Nothing to see.”

“Okay,” she smiles despite herself. “Sure.”

By the time I reach the fence breach near the mayor’s house on my way into town, I’ve formulated somewhat of a plan for the occasion. After stopping to see the butcher, Ruby or Rooba or whatever her name is, I move on to pay a visit to the Mellarks. I place my order for Thursday and grab a couple croissants for the road, but I don’t loiter in the fragrant shop like I often would, because it’s the severe middle-aged woman manning the counter. Though she’s never been unpleasant to me, Katniss’s description of her as a witch of a wife combined with her general lack of smiles has put me on edge around her. Darius says that’s just her face, but I don’t care to find out.

As I cross the threshold back into the Square, my peripheral vision picks up someone to my right gazing at the cakes in the shop window. When a second glance reveals her identity, my feet skid to a stop on the cobblestones despite the impulse they feel to rush away. Something akin to guilt blanches and paralyzes my face, and from the girl’s quizzical expression, I know she didn’t miss it. 

“Primrose, hey.” My abashment makes that greeting come out rather stilted, and I have to clear my throat. I don’t know why I feel so awkward.

“Hi, Johanna,” she responds questioningly.

“Was surprised to see you,” I explain. “Usually you’re here earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, I sold my cheese in the morning,” she confirms. “Just out for a walk. Mom’s visiting some patient and Katniss was still out. I got bored.”

This causes a pang of more appropriate guilt in my chest, and I extend the bag in my hand. “Want one?” When she hesitates, I shake the bag at her encouragingly, much like Darius did to me in this very spot on my first day here. Prim smiles and reaches in, fishing out one of the two pastries. Deciding to play dumb, as she chews I casually venture, “How is Katniss, anyway?”

A corner of her mouth quirks impishly and her eyes slowly track over as she meaningfully parries, “I think I should be asking you.”

My eyes can’t help but flick away. “What are you talking about?”

“Her mystery sleepovers, duh,” she sasses me. Her growing smile is audible when she continues, “I didn’t think civilians were allowed inside the barracks.”

Eyes still on the Square, I deadpan, “They’re not allowed in the woods, either.”

“True.”

A moment passes before I get the guts to turn my face to Prim again. “Does your mom know?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I can read Katniss like a book, but Mom’s…”

“Still not totally here?”

The young blonde’s mouth twitches subtly. “She has her good days and her bad days.”

“I can understand that.” Agitated fingertips drum against my thigh for a few thoughtful seconds, then I catch her eye gravely. “Prim, I wanna make sure you understand, you can’t tell anyone. People might stop buying from her, and I could lose my job. Or worse.”

Prim shakes her head almost amusedly. “You can trust me, Hanna,” she smiles. “Don’t worry.”

That smile proves to be infectious despite my unease. “Okay,” I agree. “Then I won’t.”

***

Sleep doesn’t come easily for me the night before our breakfast date, my mind roiling with plans and excitement. I’m awake long before I need to be up, but don’t roll out of bed until I hear my shiftmates shuffling about the wing. Their trucks roar by me on the way out as I walk to town in the dim light of the burgeoning sunrise, my duffel bag swinging from my shoulder. I stop at the bakery and the butcher shop, adding their packages to the blanket and change of clothes already stuffed into the bag along with the little box containing my gift of sorts.

Once out of sight of the fence, I change into my civies and hightail it to the spot we agreed upon. With ten minutes to spare, I reach the grassy crest overlooking the shallow valley near our usual training grounds. There’s no sign of Katniss yet, and I smile to myself that I was finally able to beat her somewhere, perpetual early bird she is. I flick my wrists to spread the blanket out on the dewy grass, then kneel on it and start smoothing out the wrinkles.

“You’re out of uniform again.”

Her voice makes me startle slightly, but I think I do a decent job of hiding it. Still straightening out the blanket, I casually remark, “You said it was a turnoff.”

“Hanna…” There’s an edge of guilt in her tone. Finally looking up, I find her creeping closer against the backdrop of the sunrise, feet silent on the forest floor.

“What?” I ask blandly.

“I stay with you at the barracks,” she states. “I think I can handle seeing you in your uniform.”

“Maybe I just enjoy pretending we’re a normal couple,” I retort. You know, rather than a pair of star-crossed lovers in a potentially precarious situation. Likely doomed to an untimely end that I try not to think about.

“Is there such a thing?” she wisecracks.

“Maybe not,” I admit with a trace of a smile. It grows into a full one as I rub my hand invitingly over the blanket. “Come join me,” I drawl, eyebrow arched high. Katniss’s eyes narrow suspiciously even as her feet obey my command, a smile now spreading over her face. I settle on my butt watching the wisps of fog rise from the valley to the north, but when Katniss sits she rests her back against my shoulder and pulls her knees to her chest, facing back the way she came.

“It’s beautiful,” she mumbles, examining the streaks of orange and purple in the slowly brightening sky. It truly is a sight to behold, she’s right. But I want her attention on me, not the sunrise, so I swivel on my butt and scoot up behind her. Wrapping my arms and legs around her, I leave a series of kisses down the side of her neck. Hums of enjoyment leave her throat as she tips her head to give me better access, and I grin against her skin.

“Yeah, Everdeen, nice sunrise,” I murmur between kisses. “By far the most interesting thing out here.”

A chuckle echoes against my lips. “Are you jealous of the sky, Mason?” She turns her head a little so I can meet her stunning gray eyes glimmering with mischief. “That’s kinda sexy.”

A scowl barely has time to form on my lips before I fall back on the blanket and execute a series of quick maneuvers that end with Katniss on her back beneath me, eyes wide. “Is it?” I ask, tilting my head as I fractionally tighten my grip on her wrists.

“How did you do that?” she demands, wincing slightly.

Fighting off the grin that wants to split my face, I slowly lower my mouth to her ear and husk, “I haven’t taught you every move I know. Yet.”

When I pull my head back to gauge her reaction, I pick up the looseness of her jaw and the way her eyes flicker as she digests the possible duality of that statement. I lift my eyebrows with a smirk so she knows that that was extremely intentional, and her eyes go even wider. It crosses my mind that maybe they were wide with lust from the beginning, rather than surprise.

Maybe it’s mean to tease her, but when have I ever cared about being nice? Loosening my grip, I slide my hands down her arms until they instinctively stop at her firm biceps and give them a squeeze. Her musculature is not only a turn on, it’s a point of pride. She’s gained considerable weight in the last couple of months, mostly in her arms and legs. The exercise regimen I’ve put her on is key to that, but the extra food undoubtedly helped too. Not that I’d ever mention it.

“So you’ve been holding back?” A touch of raspiness affects her sassy tone, sending a shiver down my spine. “Aren’t you supposed to be preparing me to face the big, bad Career pack?”

Gazing at her pensively, I tell her, “There are some things only you can prepare yourself for.” Then I just watch as she absorbs that statement, trying to quiet the stirrings of hunger in my gut. Hunger, right. Standing up on my knees, I extend a hand to pull her back into a seated position. “I promised you breakfast, didn’t I?” I crawl over to retrieve my bag, then place it in front of us as I settle to her right. “Tradition would dictate that I use a basket, but unfortunately this will have to do.”

I unzip the bag but then pause uncertainly and warn her, “Now, pardon me. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t one of your hollow days, and I may have overcompensated.” With that, I extract the packages and reveal the spread. Chilled fresh sausage. Half a dozen cheese buns. Half a dozen croissants, half of them filled with and drizzled in chocolate. A carton of orange juice I bought at the barracks.

She still hasn’t said a word, and when I catch her eyes lingering on the links, I have to battle the anxiety that wants to creep into my voice when I explain, “I thought you’d enjoy eating some meat you didn’t have to kill yourself for a change. And I know those are your favorite,” I add, gesturing at the buns.

“You’re my favorite.”

That simple statement catches me off guard, as does the genuine smile I see as she turns my way. I cover my surprise with the crack, “Are you saying you want to eat me for breakfast?” That double innuendo was not intentional, but even if I catch it late, Katniss seems to miss it altogether, shaking her head with a chuckle.

“Here, try one of these,” I urge her, picking up one of the warm pastries. “They’re called croissants. Darius got me straight addicted my first day here.” Unabashed charmer I am, I hold it to her mouth so she can take the first bite out of my hand. Her eyes roll back with a tiny moan of pleasure that causes a mild spasm between my legs.

“Oh my god. That’s wonderful.” Katniss takes it from my hand and slowly picks at the flaky roll, clearly putting quite a bit of effort into not mowing it down.

“It's okay,” I tell her. “First time I had one, I stuffed my face with it.”

“I want to savor it.”

“Lots to go around,” I point out.

Katniss takes a look at the excess of food and nods, tearing off a large piece with eager teeth. “Fuck it,” she mumbles through a mouthful.

“You can take the leftovers to school, you know,” I add. “Anyone could have treated you to breakfast.”

“I guess.” Licking her fingers, she eyes up the same package, then reaches for a chocolate one. Her eyes flutter shut upon first taste. “This is a creation sent down from heaven itself.”

“I knew you'd love it,” I grin triumphantly. “You and your chocolate.”

“It’s a rare treat,” she mutters defensively.

“I know.”

By the time we’re stuffed and have to stop, there isn't much in the way of leftovers anyway. Katniss lies down with her head in my lap, curled up and holding her full belly. “Ow,” she mumbles.

Stroking her hair affectionately, I croon, “I have something else for you.”

“I don’t think I can eat another thing,” she moans.

“It’s not food.” That gets her attention, and as she turns her head and squints, I elaborate, “I still have to give you your birthday present.”

“I thought the food was my present,” she says haltingly, laboriously sitting back up.

“Well, prepare to be surprised,” I grin, slipping my hand into the bag to dig around for the buried treasure. When I find it, I retract my hand and lay the small wooden box in both of hers. Fingers as uncertain as her eyes curl around it and flip open the lid. For a painful moment, Katniss does nothing but stare.

“You got me a bullet,” comes her blank observation. Eyebrows arching, she deadpans, “Well, at least it’s not embedded in my skull.”

“Not exactly,” I reply, plucking the empty shell from the box. “It’s what it represents.” Her expression doesn’t change a bit, so I forge on. “Look, I wanted to get you something interesting, but I couldn’t think of anything you’d really like. You’re not materialistic. So I thought I’d get you an experience gift instead.” With Katniss now displaying puzzled intrigue, I can feel my eyes dancing as I ask her, “Care to give a firearm a try, sharpshooter?”

This takes a second to set in. “You wanna teach me how to shoot a gun?” My enthusiastic nod makes her no less bewildered. “Why? What would I ever use one for except shooting your Peacekeeper friends? When could I ever get my hands on one?”

“Exactly!” I cut in. “This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing. What other district citizen can say they’ve shot a gun? It's not supposed to be useful, it's supposed to be fun.” Sensing her lingering hesitation, I place the cartridge in her hand and goad her on. “Come on, Everdeen. When have you ever turned your nose up at adventure?”

“Okay,” she concedes with a hint of annoyance. A corner of her mouth creeps up while a mischievous twinkle takes to her eye. “I’m in.”

I close her fingers over the bullet, grinning affectionately. “That’s my girl.” Then I lie back on the blanket and extend an arm, silently inviting her to join me.

Pocketing the shell with a grin of her own, Katniss obliges, settling on her back to stare at the morning sky with me. We don’t say much more, at least not with words. My fingers trail down her arm until they find hers and slip between them, receiving the slightest squeeze in reply. The brushing of her thumb over the back of mine lulls me into some peaceful stupor only accentuated by the colors and bird calls of dawn. I wish we could stay in this moment indefinitely, but the sun persists in rising.

“What time is it?” she inquires after a while. “I should probably get going soon.”

Rolling my eyes along with my body, I push myself up on my elbow to look down on her. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here with me?” I ask innocently, eyebrow cocked. “You’ve played truant before.”

“Just once,” she retorts. “And only because that’s the only way I would’ve had time to go to the lake. Sundays I’m hunting most of the day.”

“Still, you got away with it,” I argue with a charming smile. “And I’m not on duty until ten, so I’m under no obligation to take you in.”

“I can’t skip on my birthday,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “They’d know I’m probably not sick, and I could get in trouble. I know you’d never believe this, but I try to stay out of trouble.” I snort, culling a playful glare from her. “You wouldn’t know. For some reason, I have a harder time controlling my emotions when I’m around you. Always have.”

“Oh, yeah?” I inquire, trailing a hand down from her jaw to her collarbone. “What kind of emotions?” Leaning down, I let my lips follow the same course as my hand did. Her supposedly annoyed scoff doesn’t fool me, given the way she arches up just slightly under the contact.

“Anger, mostly,” she responds frankly. “You piss me off so much that I start sounding like Gale.” I pause my mouth’s journey over her clavicle and she adds, “Saying things I didn’t even realize I thought.”

After dropping my mouth for one more kiss, I slither back up so I can meet her gaze, cock a teasing eyebrow. “That’s all?”

“No,” she whispers, her eyes glazing over as she gets lost in mine. Then she tugs my shirt, pulling me down on top of her so she can wrap her limbs around me. Our mouths connect with slow, deep kisses, and she drags a lazy hand down my cheek. “That’s far from all.”

***

Upon returning to the barracks, I dump my bag in my room and immediately head for the Commune to get my caffeine fix. I’m just crossing into the lobby when I hear Purnia calling my name. Turning automatically, I locate my CO poking her head out of her quarters at the base of M wing. “Just who I wanted to see,” she continues.

“Isn’t it your day off, Captain?” I tease her.

“As if I ever truly get those,” she gripes.

Flashing her a grin, I nod into the rec hall. “Join me for a coffee? I need to get juiced up before I start.” Truly, Katniss got me plenty juiced up before leaving for school, but coffee’s become a bad habit of mine.

“All right,” she assents, following behind me.

While I wait for my drink to dispense, I catch her eye with a smile. “Thanks again, by the way. For giving me the morning.”

“Well, it was clearly important to you,” she replies dryly. When I duck my head sheepishly, she gathers, “From your stupid smile, I assume it went well?”

“It did.” Snatching my steaming cup off the machine, I raise an eyebrow and change the subject. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Purnia glances around the sparsely populated room and nods out into the lobby. “Let’s talk in the briefing room,” she suggests, already on her way. Sipping my hot brew, I follow her curiously and sit on one of the long tables as she closes the door behind us. When she turns around, I can read the bad news in her face.

“I’ve always wanted you to myself in here,” I crack, running my hand over the wooden surface with an eyebrow waggle. It’s a poor attempt to settle my nerves. The coffee was a bad idea.

“I was hoping I’d catch you before you went out on shift,” she begins, as though I’d said nothing. I should probably be grateful for that. “Sam has come down with something and he’s being encouraged to stay in his quarters.”

“Okay?” I say, unsure what this has to do with me.

“He was scheduled to go on our next import/export run on Saturday morning, but we’re not sure he’ll be in any shape to go by then. We certainly don’t want him spreading anything to your comrades or the miners.”

The reality of what she’s telling me hits me with a dull throb in my gut. “You’re sending me,” I deduce blankly.

“Yes. You’re next on the list,” she confirms. My unimpressed scowl speaks volumes, but she barely blinks. “I can’t play favorites. You’re long overdue for your first cross-district assignment.”

“So?” I protest. “There are other Peacekeepers who actually like IE runs, you know. Getting out and seeing the rest of the country.” Narrowing my eyes pointedly, I add, “I used to hope I’d get one, before I had any reason to stick around.”

The exasperation in Purnia’s ensuing eye roll carries over to her tone. “I can’t run my crew around your romantic entanglements, Mason,” she lectures. “Give you a few hours off the odd time, sure, but this is different. You can’t just bat your eyelashes and get everything you want.”

“But I’m so cute,” I pout, giving her my best puppy eyes. She shoots me a harsh look, and I relent with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Who else is going? Please tell me it’s you or Darius.”

“No. Cedric.”

“Ugh,” I grimace, mouth puckering. “So you’re sending me away for a week with a bunch of gross old guys?”

“Only one,” Purnia corrects me. “Rawley’s not going either. Cedric’s in charge of this run.”

Another angle comes to mind with this piece of info, and I cock my head innocently. “What if he tries to, you know, take advantage of me?”

“Johanna,” she states flatly, clearly done with my bullshit. “I know you trained for the Games and could probably kill him with your bare hands. That shit’s not gonna work on me. Besides, if anyone’s the pervert on our crew, it’s you.” When I merely glower at her, she plants her hands on her hips. “Do I need to write you up for refusing orders?”

“No,” I scowl.

She gives me another dirty look but otherwise lets it go, dismissing me without further incident.

The news sours my mood for the rest of the day, and I basically just mope around the Square, not paying attention to my comrades or the civilians. I know I’m being immature, that this is all part of the job, but I guess I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. I’ve gotten so used to my nice little life here that I’ve forgotten I’m at the government’s mercy and can be sent away at any time. Part of why Twelve needs so few Peacekeepers is because our only export is nonperishable, so it can be shipped rarely and in large quantities, therefore leaving our crews intact much of the time. And generally, only two of us go from each shift, including one or two officers in total to supervise the mission, so I’ve just never been slated for one before. Purnia’s timing is impeccable.

On such short notice, I have no chance to warn Katniss about this development, at least not on one of our regular training days. Thankfully, the typical Thursday night debauchery at the Hob provides me an easy excuse to run into her. I tag along with Darius and Troy and few other guys, keeping an eye out for the poacher, and am surprised to find Gale and her already there. Maybe she’s not as keen to escape her family celebrations as she made it sound.

I spend the next several minutes joking around with my crew and keeping a subtle eye on the pair of hunters. Katniss was right. From watching them, I wouldn’t be able to tell anything had changed. Gale sticks by her side, of course, but isn’t giving her wounded puppy eyes or anything. Katniss doesn’t purposely make space between them or avoid his gaze. I guess their arrangement is too crucial to both of them to let petty hurt feelings come between them. Equating their relationship with mine and Darius’s was definitely a mistake, in retrospect. No wonder it pissed her off.

Once they split up, I break from Darius’s side to approach the girl. On first glance, she perks up, but then catches herself and tones it down to a smug little smile, subtle but still noticeable to me. “Can't stay away, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I retort with a playful glare. “I’m not here for your company.”

“No?” she asks, pointedly glancing around at the lack of anyone else nearby.

“I just had to talk to you,” I explain. “I'm being shipped out on Saturday.” Her face blanches and she teeters a little, and suddenly I'm grabbing her arm and backtracking, “Oh, no, I don't mean for good. Maybe a week, if that.” Her huge sigh of relief makes me chuckle nervously as I loosen my grip. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Everdeen. We’re just doing an import/export run along the Northern Corridor.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she scolds me, snatching her arm away.

“Poor phrasing,” is my calm reply. “I didn’t want you to worry when I don’t show up on Sunday.”

The sour eye contact continues, but her scowl abates. Eventually, she drops her gaze and scratches at the base of her skull. “Should I come over tomorrow night, then?” she proposes. When her eyes flick back up, they are greeted with a smile.

“I’d like that.”

***

The night before I leave is a quiet one, in multiple senses of the word. Neither of us feels particularly talkative, and the little kissing we do isn’t exactly passionate. Intimate, but lacking fire. When I turn out the lights and we’re getting settled in bed, Katniss silently insists on holding me, rebuffing my arms and turning me on my side. I don’t know if it’s meant to be a gesture of comfort or possession, but I’ll take either.

We get a rare goodbye in the daylight the next morning, as I don’t have to report to the vehicle lockup until 7:15. Leaning back against my desk, I watch Katniss closely as she takes her time lacing her boots. Every detail gets absorbed: the deft movements of her fingers, her neutral expression, the slight slump of her posture as she stands up and shrugs on her jacket. My hands propel me off of the desk and into her, then frame her face as I plant a sweet kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” I tell her. We both know it’s a blatant lie, but she nods and pulls me in for a long hug.

“Try to enjoy your trip,” she mumbles against my skull. Finally pulling back, she half-heartedly cracks, “At least you get a break from Purnia barking up your ass.”

“It’s a welcome reprieve,” I lie with a convincing and effortless smile. Now’s not the time to make Katniss jealous. Not even for fun.

When her butt is resting on the windowsill, her weight precariously balanced, she glances over her shoulder and gives me one more listless smile. It’s more like a grimace with just a slight twitch at the corner, and is accompanied by a little wave. Deciding to project the calm I wish us both to feel, I raise my eyebrows with a little nod and return the gesture. Then she’s gone and I push out the shaky breath I’ve been suppressing.

Swiping my duffel bag and rucksack off the bed, I pull my door shut and start toward the A wing door at the other end of the building. I may have packed heavy, but our trip time is flexible and thus I’ve prepared to be gone for up to seven days. One thing drilled into my head in the program was to always be prepared for things going wrong. Rivers drying up. Allies turning on you and attacking while you sleep. Weather delays or engine malfunctions, in this case. Whatever. The lockup is part of the armory at the far south end of the compound, and that’s where I meet my CO for the trip and we sign out a pair of hummers for the next half hour.

Admittedly, collecting our group of miners at the west mine entrance and driving half of them to the station in my truck is not the least fun I’ve ever had. They are mostly in good spirits, I guess because they get a mini vacation while travelling to novel places, only working whenever we are stopped in a district. As I have to work at least eight hours every single day of the trip, I don’t share their enthusiasm, but the positive energy boosts my general mood. It’ll be an adventure, if nothing else, and I remind myself that this is something I used to look forward to.

Our bleary-eyed afternoon and night crews are already at the station to help process the miners when we arrive. It’s a similar process to the Reaping, attendance lists and blood samples. Also a patdown for weapons which, as the lone female Peacekeeper on the trip, gives me the de facto privilege of feeling up a few Seam ladies. Not the one I really want to, but oh well. With our cargo already loaded directly at the mines over the course of the last few weeks, we are able to get going well before our target departure time of 8 AM. Given I want to be back as soon as possible, that gives me something to genuinely smile about.

It’s a busy first day, with one stop each in Districts 3 and 6 in the afternoon and evening, respectively. That means I’m on duty on and off all day, as it’s all hands on deck whenever we are in a station. I’m not a fan, but I try to follow Katniss’s advice and enjoy the experience of seeing new places. My trip from Two was along a different route, so the urban centers of the technological districts and the scenery along the way are all novel. We encounter a short delay in Six because our offloading is more efficient than the conductor switch out, but we still make good time.

There’s a long block of travel after that, over 24 hours on the train as we power through the wilds on the way to District 7. When we start into the expanse of forest the nation’s largest district is contained in, I find myself glued to the window staring at the greenery. It’s under the cover of darkness by the time we make our first of three stops in the district on Sunday night, unfortunately.

The final stop of our run is in the main town of the district, and we spend several hours in the station on Monday. This is where we offload the majority of our coal and then load the cars right back up with timber. Well, we don’t, we keep an eye on the workers from Seven and Twelve as they do the grunt work. Given the length of time we are there, Cedric gives each of us half an hour to take a break and grab some real food. And it is no exaggeration to say I gleefully run into the city to explore.

The architecture around here is as gorgeous as the scenery, rustic brick and wood designs under the towering trees that I’ve never seen the likes of. The air is tinged with some gross scent in this town, which one of the guys already explained to me is because of a nearby pulp mill, but otherwise I’ve never been in a more pleasant location. If I accrue enough leave to take a vacation, I’m thinking I might come here rather than go home to Two. It’s that incredible.

There’s no need to drop any wood in the other towns on the way back out of Seven, so after a long shower and a canned dinner that is downright nasty compared to the local cuisine, I decide to hit the sack early and catch up on my sleep. Unfortunately, I’m still amped up and can’t seem to shut my brain off. Now with plenty of time on my hands before we stop again, my thoughts drift to what I’ve been trying not to dwell on. Katniss.

At least I’ve been busy enough to keep myself somewhat distracted, but I’m still hardcore addicted and at this point the few days I’ve gone without feels like a few weeks. I can’t help but wish she was here with me, holding me the way she did that last night I saw her. That memory gives way to other ones, like the encounter at the lake, and very soon I’m letting my mind roam further. Thinking of my hands in her hair, her skin in my mouth. Of discovering those last parts of her, making her writhe and moan with pleasure under my touch. I feel more liberated to imagine these things now, without the niggling guilt that always came with it. Despite my denial of it if she ever asked, that legal barrier never fully stopped burdening me. Deep wounds heal slow. It’s not long before I’m taking the growing ache between my legs into my own hands, as I have been doing a lot since my break up of sorts with Darius and the start of my current extremely sexually frustrating relationship. Unfortunately, my own hands can only do so much to ease the even greater ache of loneliness I feel.

I’ve barely gotten to sleep after when I’m roused by a pounding at my door. Groaning loudly, I wrap my pillow around my ears and call, “Go away!”

The door slides open anyway, and I wince at the soft light of the hall hitting my face. A figure comes closer and squats by the bed, pulls the pillow away sharply. When I focus on my comrade’s face to glare at him, I recognize him as Cedric. “You’re a medic, right?”

“What?” I ask, wiping my cloudy eyes, then shake my head to process the question. “I mean, sort of?” I’m about as much a medic as Mrs. Everdeen is a doctor. I got trained in field medicine in preparation for my Games, but it was fairly basic and I’ve rarely used any of it.

“Are you trained in sutures?” he specifies. At my dazed nod, he explains, “There was an incident in one of the sleeping compartments, and we have a miner who needs patching up.”

Rolling my eyes with a huge dramatic sigh, I drag my ass out of the sweaty sheets and stumble toward the dining room. The first thing I see is the two afternoon guys standing by the fridges, one with an ice pack pressed to his eye and an indignant scowl on his lips. The night shifters meanwhile are standing around awkwardly with their guns, feigning disinterest. My eyes linger on the injured Peacekeeper as I grab the first aid kit and follow Cedric down the hall leading to the district citizens’ rooms. When he guides me in one of the doorways, what I see there makes my stomach drop.

A young woman about my age and size sits on the edge of the bottom bunk, disheveled and quivering, holding a bloody hand towel to a wound on her head. At the sight of us, a shudder shoots down her limbs, and I immediately turn to my companion.

“Cedric, leave us alone,” I direct him, despite him technically being in charge. But the graying officer doesn’t argue, silently backing out of the room and sliding the door shut. Once he’s gone, I gingerly take the few steps to the bed. These tiny rooms only fit one bunk, and therefore two workers. Which would be fine, if there were an even number of female miners on this trip. But there are unfortunately three, leaving one to room by herself. No witnesses, no backup. How convenient for my opportunistic comrade.

Kneeling at the edge of the bunk, I slowly lift my eyes to meet the tear-stained gray ones above me. “Hi, I’m Ag- I’m Johanna,” I introduce myself, pulling on some gloves and subtly trying to get a look at the cut just above where her left eyebrow meets her temple. “What’s your name?”

The raven-haired woman sniffles and swallows before replying with a shaky, “Jordan.”

“Really?” I inquire with genuine surprise. At her nod, I pull on a crafty smirk. “That’s my sister’s name, too. Hopefully, you’re less of a bitch.” A surprised laugh erupts out of her constricted chest, making me smile broadly. After digging out the supplies I need, I catch the girl’s eye again. “Can I touch you, Jordan?” She nods, and I gently press some gauze to her scalp, soaking up the blood oozing out of the wound. Nabbing a second pad, I begin wiping away the red drips on her cheek. She sits stoically through the process, but I can feel the tightness and slight tremble in her jaw as my hand transverses it. A wave of shame suddenly overtakes me as I remember my little joke to myself about feeling up the three women when I gave them the regulation patdown on Saturday. I wasn’t inappropriate with them or anything, but still, it doesn’t seem so funny anymore.

“Did he hurt you?” I ask quietly, avoiding her eyes. Clearly the guy hurt her, but despite being a straight shooter in general, I feel a little tact and a euphemism are in order in this situation. Her demeanor is reminding me too much of what this feels like. My uncle got handsy with me a few times while under the influence, before his fortunate demise. Trying anything with a girl trained in the art of killing is a death wish, but he was too obliterated to think better of it and never seemed to remember why his nose was broken the next day. 

Jordan gulps, but juts out her chin as she declares, “He didn’t get the chance.”

Unable to help my proud smile, I remark, “You Seam girls are scrappy.”

“We have to be.”

“I know,” I smirk. “You’re not the first one I’ve encountered.” Jordan raises her good eyebrow at that, but I don’t divulge any more. With only crimson stains remaining on the girl’s olive skin, I add the gauze pad to the first one and address her again. “Hold this for a sec, will you?” After threading the needle, I rip open an alcohol wipe and remove the dressing to sterilize the area. Her hiss and wince make me ease up a little, but unfortunately this is only going to get worse. Fresh blood is already seeping out of the deep gash, and she’s definitely going to need those sutures. Lifting the needle into her line of sight, I tell her, “I hope you’re as tough as you think you are, because this is gonna hurt.”

“I can handle it,” she replies, though her eyes betray her anxiety. I don’t think the needle has much to do with that, though.

“I’d say you can hold my hand, but I’m gonna need both of them,” I joke. Then I get an idea and grab the towel, handing her the clean end. “You might want to bite down on this.”

Jordan takes that advice and gives me a nod to indicate she’s ready. I’m not. I’ve only done this twice before, and not in well over a year. But I portray the confidence I wish her to feel in my abilities and sink the needle into her skin before any hesitance can expose my act. She groans into the towel immediately, twisting the sheets in her hands, and my stomach turns. I make the quickest work I can of the two stitches while her vocalizations turn to whimpering and finally screaming, all sounds I’m very glad are muffled given the situation.

“All done,” I inform her after tying off and snipping the surgical thread, pulling back to examine my work. Fresh tears brim in her eyes, but she nods gratefully.

Spitting out the towel, she gives me a genuine, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I take some time to clean away the bloodstains on her face, waiting to see if her breathing steadies out. Once it does, and I determine her calm enough to be left alone, I raise an eyebrow and broach, “I have to go.” Her face doesn’t change, but I pick up on a slight shiver in her knee. Now hesitant, I take a second to consider some options. “Take the mattress to the other room if you need to, put it on the floor,” I suggest. “There’s safety in numbers.”

“Is that allowed?” Her gray eyes flicker in question as I start to pack up the kit.

“No, but I’ll fight anyone who tries to stop you. And don’t worry,” I add with a nod toward the Peacekeeper rooms. “He won’t be bothering you again. I’ll see to that.”

After bidding her a gentle goodnight, I cross the dining room and make straight for the perpetrator’s quarters. My firm knock is answered by a rough, “Come in.”

Wrangling my sweaty hands into a new set of gloves, I enter the room and nod at the guy, who has the ice pack beside him on the quilt. “Here to check on your eye, Fields,” I explain evenly.

One of his eyebrows creeps up. “Was hoping this was a social call, but okay,” he smirks, eyeing up my pajamas. Heat and loathing tumble around in my gut, but I keep my face impassive as I place the kit on his nightstand and bend down to examine his injury. I’ve barely put my hands on him before he jokes, “You gonna kiss it better?”

At this point, I’ve had just about enough. Keeping my tone steady, I question him, “Just how many women do you need to fuck with in one night to make yourself feel better about your tiny excuse for a dick, Agent?”

The young man’s cold blue eyes jump up to my fiery brown ones in disbelief. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

The guy scoffs and shakes his face out of my grip, leaning back to squint at me crossly. “I didn’t fuck with anyone. Bitch was eyeing me up all day. She wanted it.”

“Yes, and this,” I jab my fingers roughly against his bruised cheekbone, making him yelp, “is obvious proof of her desire for a sack of shit like you.”

“You are way out of line, Agent,” he warns me, pulling a piercing cackle out of my lips.

“ _Me_?” I demand, my voice finally breaking with the emotion swelling in my chest. Before he can say alcoholic uncle, I’ve got my hands wrapped around his meaty neck. His eyes pop in surprise and he cocks his fist to fight back, but I grab his arm and twist it until he yelps again, giving me a sick but righteous kind of satisfaction.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I was in the program,” I growl lowly. Surprise registers in his already wide eyes, and I lean closer so he can smell the vicious promise in my breath. “And I swear to god, if you try anything like that ever again, I will fuck you up.”

Fields struggles to bring a smirk to his strained lips. “I think I’d enjoy that,” he chokes out, poorly attempting to quell the fear in his voice.

“No, you will not,” I assure him through gritted teeth. “I’ll rip your fucking throat out. Disembowel you, castrate you and hang your balls in the Square for all to see. If you’re lucky, I’ll kill you first.” My fist tightens around his windpipe. “Have I made myself clear?”

His eyes dance with a stubborn refusal, so I twist his arm a little harder and, when he cries out in pain, yank him off the bed by the collar. Despite him being almost twice my size, I dump him on the ground with ease and land on top of him, a knee in his back and my other foot pinning his dominant hand to the floor. Cinching my hands around his neck again, I bellow, “Have I made myself perfectly fucking clear?!”

He nods his head desperately, and I drive his face into the ground as I push myself up by the hands. I start to leave, but as he begins to pull his knees under him and catch his wind, I turn back. “One more thing,” I add, my voice low and authoritative again. “You will not so much as look at that girl for the remainder of this trip, do you understand?”

Coughing the breath back into his lungs, Fields shoots me a death glare and sneers, “Go fuck yourself, Mason.”

“I just did,” I retort, my flaming eyes narrowing with contempt. With that, I slam the door and storm back to my room, shaking with rage.

Getting back to sleep is no easy feat after that, with what I just saw and the memories it dredged up refusing to leave me in peace. I think I get a few hours before Cedric is knocking on my door again and telling me it’s almost six. I’m really starting to hate his stupid face.

The rest of the trip is fairly uneventful, with only the two quick stops to unload some of our timber in the tech districts near the end of our journey home. Jordan seems to be in good hands, the two older and taller women now flanking her most of the time. The wounded miner’s demeanor is a bit apprehensive when they all walk into the dining room the morning after the disturbance, her body tensing when she sees my suited up partner. But when I catch her eye, her posture loses a bit of its stiffness and her lips turn with a small smile. The other two women nod at me gratefully, so I guess she told them everything. I’m thankful not to have garnered the same reaction based solely on my uniform. Seems Darius was right about that, ever so long ago.

The train pulls into the station in Twelve just before midnight on Wednesday night, but we still have to drive the miners back to the Seam in the trucks that were left for us at the platform and then return the vehicles to the armory. My head doesn’t hit the pillow until at least 12:30, not even five hours before I have to get up. I’m choked when I’m informed of Purnia’s orders. Sometimes the COs will make exceptions for Peacekeepers returning from long trips and give them an extra day off to replace the ones they missed, but it turns out there’s a couple people still sick, so there’s no exception waiting for me. It crosses my mind that she may also be reinforcing the boundaries she tried to set with me, dispelling any notions of favoritism, which just makes me more bitter. Cedric’s in the same boat, as apparently our shift’s third in command shat the bed on Sunday and Purnia doesn’t trust him to run another day in her absence. Cedric is one of those people who are only officers because of seniority, and he’s one of the laziest Peacekeepers I know, but at least he knows what he’s doing. Standing around and telling people what to do is quite suited to him.

Needless to say, I’m in a sour mood when I drag my weary bones out of bed in the morning and grab a huge coffee before slipping into the briefing room mere seconds before the meeting starts. Plopping down next to Athena, I brace my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands.

“You look like hell,” she observes, prompting a bit of side-eye from me.

“Cedric and I just got in around midnight. Didn’t exactly have time for a beauty sleep.” Nodding at our unkempt stand-in CO, I quip, “Can’t you tell?”

My neighbor snickers, unfortunately just loudly enough to catch the attention of the man facing us. His tired eyes manage a half-assed glare. “Vargas, Mason.”

“Sorry, sir,” sweetly smiles Athena. Now it’s me who has to try to hold in a snicker. Everything is funnier when you’re sleep-deprived, granted, but she’d never normally address the lazy asshat that way. Except maybe in bed. That wouldn’t surprise me. As I understand, she gets around as much as I do. Or would, in different circumstances.

Though still squinting unamusedly, all he says is, “School for you two.” Making a note on his clipboard, he goes back to handing out assignments while I share a look with Athena. I’ve had worse assignments, and worse partners. I don’t mind the lady so much on her own. It’s the combination of her and Tory that drives me around the bend.

There’s not much to do around the school so early in the day; it’s south of the Seam and the mines, so there’s no workers crossing through the area. It’s an ideal opportunity for a nap, but thanks to my coffee I’m too jacked for that. When students start trickling into the vicinity around 8:15, it’s a relief for my jittery ass. Sort of. The prospect of spotting Katniss in the crowds is at least half of what’s got me on edge.

Athena and I split up, her taking the back of the building and me the front. Only the front doors are unlocked at this time, but placing a uniform in the schoolyard out back to monitor any kids coming from the west tends to minimize disturbances. Considering my hardly formidable height, I hop up on a stump to make my presence known.

About ten minutes later, with a few minutes to go and a throng of kids rushing for the doors, an anomaly catches my eye. A blond kid coming from the north. A quick squint confirms her identity, and my heart jumps into my throat as I scan the area for her older sister. There she is, a few feet behind Prim, hurrying to catch up. I feel my eyes glazing over and mouth slipping open, hear my heartbeat in my ears as I stare at the sight for sore eyes. An ache grows in my chest while I watch the Everdeens make their way to the doors, but I swallow and try to regain my composure. Not wanting to rouse suspicion, I don’t approach, but I keep a surreptitious eye on my girlfriend. An eye she evidently feels, because as she and Prim reach the stairs, Katniss slows and turns her head my way.

Despite the stream of students pushing past her, her feet take root and her whole face slackens, eyes wide and bright. Battling the smile that wants to break onto my face, I give her a subtle little nod, one she’s still too paralyzed to reciprocate. The blonde in front of her stops and looks back, follows her gaze over to me. I hardly notice, because I’m so focused on Katniss. Blinking a few times, the taller girl gulps and finally returns my nod just as Prim gives her sleeve a little tug and pushes up on her toes to whisper in her sister’s ear.

From the way Katniss’s eyes bulge and cheeks fill with color, not to mention Prim’s fiendish grin, I can gather the general subject matter of what she must have said. The brunette’s eyes level on her sister, and her mouth moves sharply with something that looks like either protest or an admonishment. It only makes Prim’s smile grow, unsurprisingly. Embarrassing our pubescent siblings for their crushes is one of the few advantages of being the baby.

Gray eyes lock on me again and stay there for a couple seconds, even as their owner backs into a handrail and starts feeling her way up the steps. I have to fight off another smile, this one more along the line of Prim’s, as I hold her gaze. She gives me one more fleeting nod before turning and climbing the few steps to the landing bordering the door, rubbernecking twice in the short time before she disappears. I understand. I didn’t take my eyes off of her that whole time. I’m not sure I could have.

Resisting the temptation to search the schoolyard for Katniss during her lunchtime is difficult, but I force myself to be good. Approaching her would only draw undue attention our way, no matter what excuse I use to do so. I kill the time by shooting the shit with Athena while keeping half an eye on the nearby sixes.

Shortly after the painful forty minutes finally ends, I notice a school official exiting the nearest door close behind a group of exuberant sevens. He starts crossing the yard once he catches sight of us, so I punch my partner in the knee to get her attention. Like Mayor Undersee, the school officials are on the Capitol’s payroll despite being district citizens, so they command a certain amount of respect. We both clamber off the concrete picnic table and stand to greet him.

“Hello, sir,” she nods cordially. “Can we be of any help?”

“You could indeed, Agent,” he replies. “We have a fifteen who’s absent, didn’t return for afternoon classes.” I have to duck my head to hide my sudden affectionate grin. Either that’s an impressive coincidence, or Katniss has gone to uncharacteristic lengths to get me alone. I can’t say much about it, being the one who arrested her in the middle of the schoolyard.

“Truant?” asks Athena.

“Possibly,” is his careful answer. “She may have just gone home sick, but if so, she failed to alert anyone. We need you to check on the situation and determine the legitimacy of her absence.”

“I’ll go look for her,” I volunteer. I’ve never had to go chasing truants around before, since I rarely work the school, but I know standard procedure. One of us has to stay at our post, and if this is indeed Katniss, I know being hunted down by Athena is not what she had in mind. “Can you give me a name and description?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” he says. “Five foot seven, athletic build, Seam features.”

I don’t miss Thena’s little glance at me. She knows I’m friendly with the poacher, so pretending I don’t know the name will only raise more red flags. But there are other things I can play dumb about.

“Any idea where I can find the kid?” I ask.

“I have her address here,” he answers, handing me a piece of paper. “Southwest Seam. If she’s not there, it’s rumored she sometimes…” Cutting himself off, he glances away.

“Goes outside the fence?” I finish for him. His continued hesitance makes me wave him off. “We all buy from her. We know.” Holding up the paper, I tell him, “I’ll check here first, anyway. Thanks.”

The Everdeen residence is a little more than a five-minute walk away, as I recall, but I make it in less than four. The cracked door catches my attention as I bound up the steps, so I push into the house without knocking. When I round the door, the first thing I see is Katniss shooting out of her seat at the kitchen table. As I shut us in and pull off my helmet, she strides across the floor to meet me at the threshold. Her hands fist my vest and hair, pressing me up against the wall as she assaults my lips viciously. She snatches my helmet away and haphazardly hangs it from one of their coat hooks, then places my now free hand on her waist. I obey, splaying both hands out on her hips while I strain upward to close the height gap our proximity is exaggerating.

“When did you get back?” she demands breathlessly, pulling back just a smidge.

“Late last night.” The next few pecks are lazy. “Where’s Mama Everdeen?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” she manages between escalating kisses, her hands running down my sides. Our lips may be tangled, but I can see her smile in her gleaming gray eyes. Her mouth moves out of my reach as she tips her forehead down to rest against mine. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I whisper, palms cupping her cheeks. “So, so much. I just about lost my mind on that train.”

“Was it a nice trip, at least?” she mumbles absentmindedly before leaving a few kisses under my jaw. “I wish I could see the rest of the country.”

“I’d rather have been looking at you.”

As they flit back up and linger on me, the girl’s eyes take on a new intensity. Something I feel could consume me whole. She blinks it out of sight before speaking, but a telltale roughness remains in her voice.

“When I saw you this morning, I just…” Her focus seems to wane, and she has to blink herself back again. “I couldn’t concentrate all morning. I had to see you. Alone, I mean.”

“And this was your master plan?” I smirk. “You’re lucky Athena would rather babysit the sevens than hunt down delinquents. If I’d been with a different partner-”

Katniss cuts me off with a kiss. “I knew you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.”

That’s quite the declaration. Sure, I’ll always protect her to the best of my ability, but it’s not like I’m President Snow. Not even a Head, or an officer. Just a lowly Agent.

“You’re usually more careful,” I observe, cocking my head critically. “But you’ve been reckless lately. Kissing me in a public place, playing hooky. Twice.”

“Playing hooky so I can kiss you somewhere other than a public place,” she reasons, raising a pointed eyebrow. “One is more dangerous than the other.”

“So much for staying out of trouble,” I huff, but I can’t help kissing her again. This may be sort of my own fault, anyway, because I jokingly encouraged her to play hooky on her birthday. But I’m working now, so this is different. She’s put me in a situation here where I have to act. Oh, sure, I can make out with her a bit before dragging her back to the school, but that’s not the point. She should know better. What if she were to pull something like this in a more sensitive situation? I need to establish some boundaries, nip this in the bud before she tries. “We should get back.”

Breaking our liplock, she kisses her way over to my ear and husks, “What are you gonna do, Agent? Forcibly apprehend me?”

My eyelashes flutter against her cheek as I regain my faculties. “What?”

“Because you might have to.” Katniss sasses me, curling her hand around my neck to pull me back to her lips. Something that’s half laugh, half scoff comes out of my lips as I acquiesce. Of course, she has to push it with a smug little, “Didn’t think so.”

It takes a mere heartbeat for me to duck under her arm and spin behind her, wrenching the arm with me and trapping it between us as I pin her to the wall with my body. “Maybe I will,” I purr.

“Ow!” she protests. “Easy, Johanna.” As she starts to struggle, I nab her other wrist and pin it next to her ear, then push up against her a little harder. Her breath catches, only egging me on.

“You calling me easy?” When I purposefully grind my hips forward, she responds with a poorly muffled groan, and I break into a grin. “Still a turn off?” I whisper, flitting my tongue forward to trace over her earlobe. I barely dodge the ensuing headbutt attempt, jerking my head out of the way in an instant. “Feisty,” I observe cheekily. “Don’t make me get rough with you, Everdeen.”

“Fuck you,” she growls, but the rasp of arousal is clear in her tone.

“Some other time, babe,” I tease. “I’m on the clock.” Peeling her off the wall, I turn her ninety degrees and nudge her toward the door. She turns around defiantly and barely has time to look at me with bewildered, darkened eyes before I instruct her, “Let’s go. You’ll get in more trouble if I have to drag you back in handcuffs.”

“You just try,” Katniss retorts huskily, grabbing me by the vest again and yanking me back into her grasp. Her kisses are insistently forceful now, punctuated by breathless grunts and gasps for air. I’m so surprised and aroused, I can’t bring myself to intervene, only return the actions. During a particularly heated kiss, one of her hands snaps open the buckle at the bottom of my breastplate, allowing her the room to slip her hands under and caress my waist, thumbs grazing my stomach. That’s when my brain starts working again and I grip her wrists, dragging her hands away.

“I’m serious,” I insist, retrieving my helmet and securing my armor with finality. “It’s my job to bring you back. And if I don’t do my job, I’ll get in shit.”

Her scoff can’t hide how flustered she is when she argues, “Can’t you just tell them I’m sick?”

“I can't play favorites,” I reply simply. “Athena knows we’re friends. It might look suspicious.” As I step closer, I cross my arms and eye her gravely. “And I can’t let this affect my work, remember?”

“Right,” she huffs, a shadow crossing her face. “Loyalty to the Capitol.”

Guiding her out the door, I state, “It’s what’ll keep us alive.”

It’s hard for me to keep up with her large, sour steps once we get going, but I manage by keeping mine fast to the point that it’s almost embarrassing. “Oh, now you’re in a hurry?” I sass her. Her only response is a half-hearted glare over her shoulder, so I bump her ribs with my forearm. “Come over tonight,” I urge her. “We’ll make up for lost time, I promise.”

Katniss doesn’t respond, so I just shrug it off like it doesn’t bother me and lift my radio to my lips. “Vargas, I’m heading back to our post. ETA four minutes.”

My neighbor’s voice crackles out of the speaker. “Roger that, Mason. Did you locate the truant?”

“Affirmative,” I say, casting a look at Katniss, who rolls her eyes. “I have the kid in custody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for her help and patience. Thanks to all the readers for your patience, too. Real life stuff is sadly stealing a fair chunk of my writing time these days.


	13. Everything

Only the mockingjays are there to greet me when I arrive at our training grounds after school. It doesn’t really worry me at first because I might be a bit early, but very soon I’m pacing around and gnawing on my cheek. My worry turns to irritation as it becomes ever clearer that Katniss isn't coming, but I stubbornly wait over half an hour before giving up and stalking home. It’s an especially unpleasant walk because I’m still weighed down by my armor. I’m not allowed to carry a firearm unless in full uniform, and I’d planned to give Katniss a rundown of gun safety so when I give her a chance to fire it, we can spend more time shooting. I’m smoldering to a disproportionate degree as I get within sight of the barracks, and it occurs to me that maybe I shouldn’t even have weapons right now.

Once inside, I stash my armor and gun in my gear locker and then head for my quarters. I’ve barely started down the hall when I hear eager footsteps behind me.

“Hey, Jo! Wait up!” Darius. Hardly the person I want to talk to right now. Not that I want to talk to anyone. I want to flop down on my bed and sleep. Maybe punch a few people first.

Merely slowing my steps, I cast a glance at the redhead over my shoulder. It’s not until he’s caught up and fallen into step beside me that I respond verbally. “What’s up, Hallett?”

“Nothing much. Just haven’t seen you in almost a week.” That’s fair enough, so I give him a hum and nod of acknowledgement. What with my stumbling into the briefing at the last second, I lacked any opportunity to exchange pleasantries this morning. “How was the run?”

“Uh…” I don’t even know how to begin describing that, not without getting into things I’d rather not think about. “Boring but eventful?”

His dark eyes twinkle mischievously. “You wanna vague that up a little?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” I mumble blankly.

Despite his furrowing brow, Darius assures me, “Okay, not a problem.” He scratches behind his ear and changes the subject. “Are you coming again this week?”

“Coming where?”

“To the Hob, obviously.” We’ve reached my door, and he braces his arm high on the wall and leans against it. His teasing smirk fades to a smile. “It was nice you came last Thursday.”

If I’m being honest, I mostly went last week so I could tell Katniss about my assignment, but I did enjoy the company of our crew. That being said, I’m so not in the mood for socializing, and I’m a bit afraid of what I might say or do when she inevitably shows up. And if she truly is avoiding me, things could really get ugly. If she detests my presence, I’m not going to force it on her. Not this time.

“I’ll think about it,” is all I say.

“Don’t think too hard,” Darius urges me with another grin. “I’m buying. It’ll be fun.”

Eyes rolling, I scoff, “Oh, I’m sure it will be.” His eyes squint and flicker. Dumbass. I cock my head and zero in. “What, you think I should be jumping for joy at the chance to hang out with you? Now that I’ve done sufficient penance?”

“What?” he demands, dumbfounded.

“You’re the one who’s been holding me at a distance for months, Darius. And you think you get to decide when we’re gonna be friends again? That I’m gonna enjoy your company after all this?”

“We are friends,” he insists, though his tone doesn’t convey the same confidence. “Aren’t we?”

“You sure haven’t been acting like one,” I snap.

Darius ducks his head, but I still catch the way his jaw twitches and sets. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.” Neither did I.

Sighing out my aggression, I run my fingers through my hair. “Look, I’m in a bad mood. It’s been a rough few days. I can’t talk about this right now.” I’m already pulling out my keycard as I voice that last sentence, and Darius drops his arm but makes no move to leave.

“Is everything okay?” Despite what appears to be genuine concern on his part, I just shrug. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

An ironic chuckle puffs past my lips and I give my head a slow shake. “That’s the thing, Darius. I can’t.”

As I’m reaching out to swipe, he loosely grips my other bicep. “Look, even if it’s about Katniss-”

“It’s not!” I shout, snatching my arm away. His offhanded affection stopped bothering me ages ago, but right now any unsolicited touching makes my skin crawl. The redhead’s expression holds shock and doubt among a variety of other indistinguishable emotions, so I admit, “Maybe a little, but…” My shoulders droop, closely followed by my eyes. That’s not the point. “Talking to you doesn’t make me feel better anymore.”

That’s a painful truth for me to realize, let alone for him to hear. Though I’m dreading it, I lift my gaze to absorb the effects. His eyes, as always, speak volumes. He’s hurt, all right, but he’s pissed too. “Then don’t, Mason,” he retorts through puckered lips. His hardened expression flickers for an instant when he snorts and shakes his head. “I’ll get out of your face.” He then peels off and stalks away without looking back. This piques my irritation again and I one-up him by slamming the door behind me.

I manage an hour or two of troubled sleep once I get my blood pressure down enough to pass out. After showering and forcing a meal down my throat, I try to read while I wait for Katniss to show up. If she shows up at all, which I’m certainly not counting on at this point. When it becomes clear that I can’t concentrate on anything but my own racing thoughts, I give up the pretense and toss the book across the room onto my desk. The remainder of the evening is spent staring at my ceiling, ruminating on how talented I am at destroying my relationships. Several scenarios play out in my head, the worst one being that Katniss got in serious trouble after I brought her back and that she’s under arrest or injured, and therefore unable to come. That’s actually almost easier to swallow than her just being so pissed that she doesn’t want to see me.

I’m weighing the merits of hitting the sack early and trying to sleep it off, maybe imbibing a bit of liquor to knock myself out, when a knock at the window jolts me up onto my elbows. A moment of disbelief later, I plant my feet on the ground and unlatch the pane, pushing it out. A pair of gray eyes looks up at me expectantly.

“Hi,” says Katniss. At my lack of reply, she straightens up and prods, “Is that offer from earlier still good?”

I step back a touch and motion into the room with an impassive, “Be my guest.”

To my surprise, Katniss doesn’t wait for me to offer her my arms before gripping the windowsill and hoisting herself up. I reach out to steady her anyway when she's trying to maneuver her feet over, but her saucy grin tells me my shock must be apparent. Once she's hopped over my bedside table and hit the floor, she chirps, “I work out, you know.”

“Uh huh,” I respond blandly, my hands still curled under her armpits.

Her eyebrows knit but, undeterred, she pulls me into a hug. An unexpectedly tight and long embrace, given we already reunited earlier in the day. It takes her fingers stroking my sides and her face burrowing into the crook of my shoulder for me to understand her motivation. For all the kisses in the world, feeling the warmth and contours of my body was impossible with my armor on. My jaw still set, I lower my arms from where I’ve draped them around her neck. Hers slacken only slightly in response.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I remark, pressing my hands to her collarbones to give myself a little room to breathe.

“Why not?” she inquires, finally getting the hint and dropping her hands to loosely rest on my hips.

“It’s late, for one. And you didn’t show up for training this afternoon.”

“I didn’t know you were coming back,” she points out. “I’d already promised my mom I’d do a herb run for her.”

Blinking rapidly, I give my head a tiny shake. “Then why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“Because I was mad at you,” is her frank reply. 

My eyes twinkle along to a toothy smirk. “And here I got the impression you liked the way I manhandled you.”

“Maybe I would’ve, if you weren’t arresting me,” she retaliates. “That’s not the first time you’ve dragged me to the authorities, if you recall.”

My mouth twitches guiltily and I drop my eyes. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Not really,” she shrugs. “So far as they knew, I didn’t resist. I told them my mother was feeling ill this morning and I went home to check on her over my lunch. That I made her some soup, and was just about to head back when this overzealous Peacekeeper showed up and dragged me back to the school like some kind of criminal.” The bite returning to her tone at the end of that explanation does not go unnoticed.

“If you’re so angry with me, why are you even here?” My eyes narrow with that snappy retort.

“Come on, Hanna,” scoffs Katniss. “I’m usually angry with you for one reason or another.”

“And yet you keep coming around,” I deadpan. Katniss says nothing but squints as though she’s trying ascertain my level of seriousness. I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Look, I warned you. I can’t give you special treatment, not while on duty. What we have, it’s only okay if it doesn’t compromise my ability to do my job. If it does, Purnia can’t turn a blind eye anymore.”

“I know,” she mutters, eyes on the ground. Jamming her hands in her pockets, she sinks down onto the edge of the bed. “Playing hooky was a great excuse to get you alone because you’d just be following orders to track me down. What I didn’t consider was how you’d be breaking those same orders if you didn’t bring me back without delay,” she admits, blinking up sheepishly. “I understand that I put you in an awkward position.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from seductively saying I’ll put her in an awkward position. Instead I just nod and - when I trust myself to speak - say, “I’m glad you finally thought that through, brainless.” She just shoots me a silent glare as I step closer with a smirk and lean down to kiss her. Her response is begrudging at first, but after a moment she lets my tongue pass her lips and gives the front of my shirt a little tug. Though she’s pulling me directly down, I crawl over the girl to lie on my side on what’s generally her side of the bed as our lip lock continues. The explicit thought that Katniss has a side of my bed makes me grin stupidly, even though it’s long-established.

“What?” she grills me, suspiciously eyeing my parted lips.

“Nothing,” I assure her as my arms worm under her neck and over her waist. “Just happy you’re here.” She’s not entirely convinced, but really, it’s no lie. I am more than enjoying these soft kisses, holding her and relishing her presence. It’s embarrassingly sentimental, but I missed her so much that I can’t bring myself to care, so I allow myself this indulgence. My pride is long gone when it comes to her, anyway. A few minutes in, I remember something I wanted to ask her. “What did Prim say to you?”

“What?”

“Before school,” I clarify. “She said something and you went bright red.”

Charcoal eyes roll irritably. “She said, ‘I guess I’ll tell Mom you won’t be home tonight?’”

A tiny snort escapes my nose. “Little shit.”

“You surprised she knew?”

“No.” On the verge of recounting our conversation last week, I remember Katniss’s reaction last time I mentioned Prim and me talking about her. As amusing as it was, now’s a rare moment when I have no desire to antagonize her, so I explain it away with, “Prim’s smart.”

“You were right about people close to us noticing,” mutters Katniss, rolling onto her back. A moment later, she turns her head enough to meet my eyes, unfiltered emotion in hers. A vulnerability I’m still not used to. “Never leave me again, okay?”

“I can’t make any promises,” I sullenly state. “I don’t make the assignment schedule.”

“Maybe you _should_ start sleeping with Purnia,” she deadpans to the ceiling. “Store up some favors.”

“If I thought I could, I would have tried by now,” I smirk, earning myself some side-eye. Adorable. But I take pity on her and specify, “The Darius thing wouldn’t have stopped me.”

Her ensuing question comes with a cocked eyebrow. “But this would?”

I have to duck my face momentarily so she can’t see how hard my eyes are rolling. The kid’s either still oblivious to the depth of my feelings or just blind to her own worth, and I’m torn between finding it endearing and annoying. Shimmeying a little closer, I prop myself up on my elbow and cup her cheek, ensuring she maintains eye contact. “This is more than a thing, Katniss,” I declare with a quiet assurance. My thumb traces over her cheekbone. “You know that.”

The effect on Katniss is clear. Her clenched jaw loosens and that fleeting vulnerability returns to her eyes as a breath of relief leaves her body. Lowering myself to the mattress, I hook my fingers behind her jawbone to draw her closer. It turns out she needs no help with that, pushing forward to plant her lips firmly against mine and lead us in a series of sluggish kisses. Not exactly lazy ones, but not fiercely passionate either. Sensual. The warmth of her roaming fingertips puts me on alert as they brush up and down my ribs, invades between my legs once her breath catches the first time. But the slow, controlled pace she maintains allows my fatigue to creep back in despite my state of arousal - in multiple senses of the word - and after a while I start struggling to keep up. She notices this lapse and pulls back in a silent question.

“I need to get ready for bed.” Before Everdeen can check the time and protest, I explain, “I haven’t had a day off in over a week, and I’m up early again tomorrow. Shouldn’t be staying up late.” She doesn’t question this, though I catch some disappointment leaking through her nod of assent.

Once I’ve untangled myself, I grab my pajamas and head to the bathroom. Obviously she saw me naked that one time already, but at least that nudity had an alternative purpose. And I don’t want her to think I’m coming on to her, blatantly stripping down in my bedroom. She’ll let me know when she’s ready to take things further. The extra time required to wipe away my arousal after using the toilet is a painful reminder of just how ready I am, and have been for ages. I release a sigh of frustration and focus on breathing deeply to calm down and hopefully kill my boner so I can sleep.

Unfortunately, what I see when I push open my door makes that whole effort for naught. My heart just about jumps out of my chest and a lightning bolt strikes me below the waist at the visual of Katniss standing at my desk in a pair of my sleeping boxers and one of my tank tops. She is studying my collection of photos on the wall again, hands braced on the edge of the desk, and doesn’t seem to notice my wide eyes feasting on her long, toned legs or trailing up to take in her curves visible in profile.

Sleep is suddenly the last thing on my mind. I’ve seen her more naked than this, but the sight of my girlfriend in my night clothes in my room sends this possessive rush through my veins that only accentuates the effect of her exposed skin. I’m vaguely aware of my mouth slipping open as I continue to stare. It’s beyond me how it suddenly feels bone dry and yet I could swear I’m drooling.

Katniss’s eyes flick over and her face morphs in question, but I’m incapable of speech. I can barely even swallow. She shifts uneasily and turns my way. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind,” she says, picking at the tank top and revealing some smooth olive skin in the process. I force my eyes back up to her face as she continues, “It’s just getting hotter now, you know?” Oh, I know. I continue to stare, at her gorgeous face now, watching as her eyes flicker with uncertainty. They dart over my features like they did right after she kissed me the first time, again trying to ascertain the emotions behind my shocked silence.

Cedric’s booming laugh echoing down the hallway pierces my stupor and is promptly followed by an indistinct female titter. Though I narrow my eyes irritably at the interruption, I’m begrudgingly grateful that it gives me the presence of mind to shut the door behind me.

When I turn back to Katniss, she’s still eyeing me nervously. “Johanna?” Her eyes beg me to say something, but I still don’t have any words. Instead, I find myself gravitating toward her. Story of my life.

The hunter’s weight is on her heels as I draw closer, like she is torn between running from me and running to me. She gulps, but her gaze is no longer jumpy by the time I’m halfway there. Rather, it’s focused and curious. Wanting. That face of the willful prey is what snaps me back into control of my own body, and I take three purposeful steps and land with my hands on her hips, my body mere inches from hers. Katniss only gets the chance to wordlessly flap her mouth once before mine attacks it.

Months of pent-up tension power my lips and tongue as I push up on my toes, clutching the tank top straps with eager fists. A sharp breath later, Katniss responds in kind, pulling up on my waist and kissing me back with fury. One of my hands migrates down her side as I drag her bottom lip between my teeth, and she lets out this adorable little whimper that simultaneously makes me want to swaddle her in a blanket and rip her fucking clothes off. Her stormy eyes go all but black, reflecting my own lust back at me as she winds her fist in my hair and yanks me back up, sparking a wildfire between my thighs.

My brain seems to cease all functioning as we trade gasps and snarls between desperate kisses, pleasantly numb except for one niggling thought. I didn’t mean to do this. My conscience bid me wait for permission, or at least encouragement, and yet here I am. Going on the offensive, taking what I want, as per usual. This train of thought brings me back to earth, and I slowly disengage. Everdeen’s eyes jump between mine, her swollen lips hanging open and echoing their confusion. There really is no need to ask, given her tremors of desire and uneven breaths, but I cock an eyebrow and await confirmation all the same. It takes a few seconds before her eyes widen a touch in understanding, but only one more before her head jerks with a tiny yet decisive nod. Then I’m pulled into her grasp again, flush against her body now as her forearms curl around the small of my back. My arms slither up to sling around her neck as I melt into her, tipping my head up to moan my relief and desire into the kiss. 

This is finally happening. I can barely let myself believe it. When Katniss loosens her grip just a little to run her palms over my back, I take advantage and work my hands down between us and under her shirt. Just under, that is, only to retreat when I drag my nails down her stomach. Visceral satisfaction spreads the heat in the pit of my stomach as I take in the hunger in her features while she shudders under my touch. Her smoldering gray eyes; her wanting, parted lips that now curl with a hint of suspicion. “What?”

“You're so fucking beautiful,” I breathe.

Her already flushed cheeks burn impossibly brighter. “I'm nothing compared to you,” she mumbles, glancing up and down my body. The desire is still plain in her eyes when they catch mine again, but so is a kernel of disbelief. I shake my head and tighten my grip on her shirt to keep it from taking root.

“No, you're everything,” I tell her, with every scrap of my sincerity. Her face freezes, and I lean in so my breath tickles her ear when I continue in a deep whisper. “Everything.” Exhaling, I graze my lips along her jaw until they make it to hers. “You have no idea.”

Eager teeth catch and sink into my lower lip mere seconds into our latest kiss, hard enough to draw blood and a mewl of pained surprise as my eyes pop open. Gasping for breath, or maybe just sanity, I manage one word. “...Katniss.”

Strong hands grip my shirt tighter as those darkened eyes flash with emotion, wrench me to my right when their owner spins us and forces me to take a couple steps back. My calves haven’t even touched the bed before she snarls into my mouth and shoves me down on the mattress. I don’t think I blink or breathe in the next couple seconds, paralyzed with awe as my inexperienced girlfriend clambers on top of me and yanks me up by the collar for another searing kiss.

Finally unshackled, my greedy hands glide down her back until they’re cupping her ass. It feels every bit as good as I imagined. Reclining back against the mattress, I give it a firm squeeze and draw her down with me as I straighten us out. Katniss carries that momentum and unexpectedly grinds her pelvis down into mine, setting off fireworks in my pants. A whimper leaves my unprepared lips while she groans her pleasure into my neck, and the combined sounds make me shudder with anticipation. I’m trying desperately to cling to some piece of my mind so I can at least make this enjoyable for both of us and not some rushed, clumsy frenzy, but it’s nearly impossible because my whole body needs her. Against it. In it.

Her hands slide under my shirt almost immediately and merely skim over my stomach in favor of palming my breasts. Dexterous fingers pinching and rolling my nipples make my eyes roll back and my hips buck just like they did that day at the lake. I barely retain the consciousness to grasp at the edges of the shirt and try to wriggle out of it. “Off.”

The girl’s austere face of desire lightens with a flicker of a smirk, but she doesn’t tease me for my ravenous hunger. Probably because it would be hypocritical. Silently she takes over for my trembling hands with surprisingly steady ones and works the shirt over my head. Once it’s tossed to the floor, her solemnity returns as she rakes her eyes over the skin she just uncovered for herself for the first time.

“Fuck,” she whispers, meeting my eyes and leaning down again. “I missed you so much.” Those words are barely whispered against my lips before hers drag down my neck to suckle on a choice piece of skin.

I’m about to return the sentiment, but her fingers resume their ministrations at that same instant and all I can form is an unintelligible string of vowels. Ignoring my intention not to rush, my traitorous hands palm her skull and adamantly guide it downward. Brief confusion registers on her face, but my blazing eyes and the placement of her mouth seem to get the message across just fine. Her probing, circling tongue starts a slight tremor in my hips, but when her lips close around the sensitive bud my back arches right off the mattress.

“Oh, shit...” A stuttering whine usurps my voice before I can find any more words. Barely catching my breath, I mutter, “Fucking hell.”

Katniss’s lips split open, leaving only her teeth to scrape at my nipple, and a flare of sensation shoots down my spine and into my groin. My head tips back just as she chuckles, “Couldn’t pick just one curse?”

Not even needing to feign offense, I force my narrowed eyes back to her grinning face. “You smug little assho-”

I’m cut off again when she puts that smart mouth back to work along with one of her hands, but I hold in my whimpers out of spite even as she suckles me like a starving child. Still simmering, I’m working up the will to overpower her and show her who’s boss when she lets out this delectable little moan of pleasure and exertion. My nails sink back into her scalp, only encouraging her efforts despite my fleeting plans. I guess I can handle letting her be in charge a little while longer. As long as I don’t show how much I’m enjoying it.

That becomes quite the task as Katniss continues muffling noises of delight in my chest and gets rougher with her hands. She finally wrests a strangled cry from me when she lifts her face and releases me with a hard pop, letting my skin graze her teeth on the way out. A satisfied grin graces her lips as she runs her hands over both breasts again and then drops her mouth to the other one. It’s my less sensitive side, but I still arch up under her touch and whimper. A rush of arousal spilling onto my thighs and further soaking my pajama pants catches my attention, and just then the virginal girl lets out another tiny moan. Before I can realize what I’m doing, let alone stop myself, I’m pushing my knee up to probe between her legs.

Bright gray eyes flash up to me and nearly bulge out of her head, her suction suddenly waning. Now it’s my turn to smirk, and she casts me a glare in return that only motivates me to do worse and grind my leg against her. Grunts catch in her throat and her fingers twitch as she tries to fight through it, but her dominant energy starts to ebb as her attention falls to rocking her hips. I promptly pounce on this lapse and flip us over, pinning her hands beside her ears and staring down into wide, wanting eyes. Never relinquishing eye contact, I use gravity to my advantage and put my whole weight behind my leg, rocking my body against her.

It only takes a few thrusts for her eyes to roll back and flutter shut, and I duck my face to leave some kisses down her neck. But she’s no starfish, and almost as soon as I start her arms are flexing with effort to free themselves. Grinning against her skin, I slide my hands from her palms to her wrists, cinching them in my strong fingers. She whimpers in pain or frustration, possibly both, giving me a sudden head rush and burst of energy. Growling into her jawbone, I flatten on top of her, tense my leg and start rocking my hips with effort, grinding my pubic bone down and into hers. Her struggling still fruitless, Katniss settles for lifting her own thigh to return the favor and wrapping her left leg around my butt to pull me down harder. A surprised gasp leaves my lips, echoing her ragged breaths, and I slide my hands back up to interlock our fingers. 

As we continue our coordinated effort, Katniss ducks her chin down in an attempt to capture my lips. I avoid hers just long enough to elicit a frustrated huff before tipping my head up and taking them with force. Her peeved glare still can’t compete with the desire in her eyes, and only seconds after she opens her mouth, she’s whimpering into mine.

“Hanna…”

That one word is enough to make me lose my shit. My right hand releases her left and jumps down between her legs to rub her over her clothes. I can feel how wet she is through the boxers, and my brain short-circuits as a shuddering groan pushes its way out of her lungs, her hips twitching and trembling. She pushes them up, seeking greater pressure, which I’m happy to give.

Her continued whimpers evolve into shaky, breathy moans as I keep moving my fingers over the slick fabric, and between that and the tremors in her hand that’s now dug its nails into my back, I can tell she’s already nearing the edge. She could come at any minute, and she’s still wearing all her clothes. As hot as that is, it’s probably not what either of us had in mind, so I slow my hand and then move it up to her hip.

Her eyes go wide in disbelief and she arrests my wrist in a desperate grip. “Don’t fucking stop.”

A proud smirk parts my lips. And she had a mind to lead this encounter. That's so cute. I knew I could make her fall to pieces in a matter of minutes.

After one more solid peck, I graze my lips along her jaw to her ear and deliver a raspy promise. “I’m just getting started.”

Before she has a chance to respond with more than a shiver, I run my hands up her stomach and over her breasts, making her arch up into my touch. Then just as quickly, they slip under the tank top and start to peel it away from her hot skin. I lower my mouth to her stomach and leave a trail of kisses behind the receding hem, ending at her cleavage when I sit up on my knees to pull the garment over her head.

Apprehension has crept into the girl’s aroused expression by the time her shirt hits the floor. So, not wanting to exacerbate her self-consciousness, I resist the urge to stare and instead resume kissing her. My hands traverse the same path they just did, only slower, and a low, husky moan echoes into my throat when my fingers finally brush over her hardened nipples. It makes me shudder and waste no time kissing down her chest. She did well for her first try earlier, but I can teach her a thing or two.

A gasp fills the air as soon as my lips wrap around one of her stiff buds, her hips bucking under my weight. Fingernails rake my scalp as I alternate between both breasts, teasing her with lips, tongue, teeth. Fingers, too. She’s squirming mightily within several minutes, legs tangling with mine and hips pushing upward in search of some kind of friction.

Eventually, she snarls and yanks my hair to pull me up for a searing, breathless kiss. Her desperation only exacerbates mine, throwing my senses into hyperalert mode, and all these little sensations start to overwhelm my brain. Her muffled whines gracing my ears. Belligerent teeth nipping at my lips. The electricity her fingers send through every inch of skin they touch. I might as well be a virgin again. I have never needed something so badly in my life.

My hands are quite enjoying their current preoccupation, so I leave them where they are and start a descent with my lips. They maintain a blistering pace from her neck to her bellybutton, then slow as my hands come down to join them. Thumbs now grazing above her waistband, I flick my eyes up to catch her burning ones. She shudders but shoots me a bewildered, impatient glare. Despite my torrential need, I hold her gaze and make an earnest inquiry.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you insane?” she shoots back, eyes wide like this is a completely preposterous thing to ask. I guess it is.

Her hand comes down to force mine into her shorts, but it’s unnecessary. I’m already slipping half of it under the waistband, sliding my thumb into her folds. My breath hitches despite my best efforts to play it cool. I already felt how soaked she was through the shorts, and I could smell it when kissing down her stomach, but feeling her flushed skin and abundant arousal uninhibited makes my jaw drop. Slowly, I glide my soaked thumb back up to graze over her clit. She hisses loudly and her hips jerk at the contact, so I softly repeat this a few times, teasing my tongue up and down the inner ridge of her hip bone. Tangling a hand in my hair again, she rubs her thumb over my hairline in encouragement.

My first harder, faster swipe is rewarded with an uncharacteristically high whine, one that makes my eyes roll back. I move my face down to her inner thigh and start leaving experimental little nips there as I keep up the new pace. She whimpers, but the way her knee turns out indicates that she’s enjoying it, so I grin and sink my teeth in harder. A loud groan climbs out of her throat and her fingers clench, just about ripping the follicles from my scalp. Despite the cry of pain it culls from me, I’m still smiling. She likes it rough. How did I ever get so lucky?

I get a few more bites in before she growls impatiently and cinches me between her legs. Wrenching me back up the bed and rolling on top of me, she lands on her knees and glares down into my wide eyes. “You’re taking too long.”

“Is that so?” My raised eyebrow does nothing to counteract the arousal in my voice.

“Yes,” she replies surely, walking her knees back deliberately. But her hand proves much less sure as it travels down my stomach, momentarily hesitating a couple inches above my drawstring. I don’t miss the little bob of her throat right before she tentatively slides her hand under my waistband, easing it down into the wet mess that is my pussy. Her eyes grow almost comically and a faint blush tints her cheeks, but she soldiers on, sliding her fingers through my folds. Up and over my throbbing clit, back to my burning hole, over and over. But it’s with only a teasing pressure, so I’m able to subdue my physical and verbal reactions. Mostly.

Brow furrowed uncertainly, Katniss lifts her eyes to me, searching for approval or a bit of guidance. I give her neither.

“Jeez, Everdeen, I thought you’d gotten a little midnight practice under your belt,” I disparage her mockingly. “So to speak.” Her eyes narrow in a dangerous way that shoots a thrill down my spine to meet her fingers. Cocking that eyebrow again, I double down. “Not so smug now, are you, kiddo?”

Those charcoal orbs burst into flames before my very eyes, her cheeks burning a deep crimson. “Fuck you!” she spits. And then, as if following her own orders, she shoves her fingers inside me with the full force of her fury.

All my muscles go taut and I expel some noise that sounds vaguely like a strangled cat. My girlfriend’s nostrils flare as she pulls out and pushes deep inside me again, and this time I shudder uncontrollably. “Oh my god,” I groan, squeezing her fingers to pull them impossibly deeper. Her eyes bulge and flash simultaneously, then she drops them to stare mutely at her hand disappearing inside me again and again. She must have been paying attention to my technique, because her thumb flits out and ghosts across my clit, causing my hips to jerk. Her touch is still teasingly light, at least on the outside, and this time I can’t pretend not to care.

“Katniss, harder,” I rasp between grunts. “Faster. Please.”

Dark eyebrows fly up while all her digits coast to a stop. Great. I’ve awoken a fucking monster.

“Please?” she echoes with an infuriating degree of cockiness. I expel a little cough to cover the whimper trying to squeak out of me, glower defiantly into her eyes. She just tips her head and waits with surprising patience until my eyes and legs squeeze shut and I give in.

“Please,” I repeat.

The shifting pressure in the mattress tells me she’s going to crawl forward on her free hand even before I feel her presence looming over me. I sigh, knowing what she’s going to say before she even draws a breath.

“Please what?” growls Katniss. And I roll my eyes, because this is fucking ridiculous. As much as her dominant turn is arousing me, I am not going to let this virgin asshole own me like this. She already owns my heart. What more could she want from me?

Lacking my experience and instincts, Katniss is caught off guard when my left hand shoots out and wraps itself in her braid in a few deft movements. It’s surprise more than pain that colors her cry when I tighten my grip and slowly pull down. Lifting my head just slightly off the mattress, I put my lips to her ear and snarl, “Please fuck me, you cocky little son of a bitch.”

A high gasp emits from her throat and my other hand darts back into her boxers, drawing a long, delicious moan out of her before she can catch her breath. But I don’t rub it in, because I need this every bit as much as she does. Instead, I stroke her with moderate pressure and continue breathing into her ear, panting when her hand starts twitching back to life.

“Does that feel nice, baby?” I whisper hoarsely. Her hips suddenly jolt along to a needy whine, and I can’t help but smile at this confirmation that I’ve found another weak spot. One thing I learned in the program: know your enemy. I can exploit this all day. Deliberately gasping against her ear first, I husk, “God, I love the way you feel inside me.”

It would be an understatement to say this works like a charm. Those long, strong fingers - fingers I have studied and anticipated for months - drive in deep again and start thrusting with a new fervor. I barely retain the presence of mind to drop my right hand and pull down the hem of my pants, start working it over my thighs. The sudden absence of my touch is plenty enough motivation for Katniss to help, stopping momentarily to rip them down my legs. Between my kicking and her wrangling, we get them past my ankles instantly, then she’s dropping them on the carpet and crawling back hungrily.

As she settles on her forearm again, other hand moving to resume its duties, I grip her waistband between my thumb and my fist and catch her eye hopefully. Despite the slight waver in her features, she doesn’t hesitate to grab the other side and help me push them down over her hips. My hand can only reach so far, so she has to work them the rest of the way down, finally kicking them free off the edge of the bed. Then she catches me by surprise by, rather than jamming her hand back inside me, running both her palms over my fully naked form before settling her weight on top of me with a tiny groan.

“I wanna feel all of you,” she whispers, slipping a hand under my ass and pulling it up as she presses down with her hips. Despite the urge to chuckle at how adorable this is, I know I have yearned just as badly for the feel of her skin against mine. And god, is it ever incredible to have every inch unimpeded. So I stay quiet, grazing my hands lovingly over her crown and back, my legs wrapping around her butt to pull her closer.

Admittedly, another reason I say nothing is that I’m suddenly extremely distracted by fantasies of how hot it would be for her to fuck me this way. Unfortunately, I don’t have the necessary equipment on hand. But I really need something, so I steal her right hand and guide it back between our joined bodies to where it belongs. Katniss gives me a little smirk but doesn’t argue, wiggling her fingers back inside.

Gripping her hair again, I slide my hand down to the end and work the elastic free. My fingers thread into her loosened braid, detangling it with care to let wavy dark chocolate locks spill over her shoulders. I can’t help staring, brushing my fingers through it again. She’s a fucking portrait of a goddess.

A slight whimper and twitch of her hips is what brings me to my senses, calls my hand back down to tend to her needs. It’s greeted by a sigh of relief against my neck and a squeeze of my breast with her free hand. Ample motivation to continue.

“Johanna.”

My eyelids flutter at the sound of my name. I haven’t heard it that way in a while, whined out by a breathless female. Reaching back to douse my fingers, I speed up a little as I continue to rub them over her swollen clit. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” I whisper. Not even for her benefit, though I’m promptly reminded of the effect on her when she gasps into my collarbone and thrusts her fingers as deep as she can go. I clench my walls around them, looking for a little more pressure in the right places.

“Pull up a bit,” I instruct. Her only response is a confused squint. “Like, curl your fingers.” I relinquish my grip on her mane in favor of showing her the motion, and after a moment of trial and error, she drags her fingers over the right spot and my hips roll of their own volition. Between this and my gasp of pleasure, she figures it out and angles her hand accordingly as she resumes her slow, hard rhythm.

“Oh, fuck,” I whimper. “Katniss.” Though I love what she’s doing, I’ve been teased plenty enough already, so my hand accelerates in hopes that she’ll do the same and that I can drive her just as crazy. That proves wildly successful on both counts, and within minutes the two of us are sweating, pumping tremulous hands, moaning and gasping into the sparse air between our lips. Her eyes have adopted this electrifying ferocity that is almost as scary as it is arousing and is matched by the odd snarl. I nip and pull at her swollen lips, but we need our breath too much to full on kiss at this point.

Katniss drops her head as she adds some force to her effort, and my eyes roll up to the ceiling, legs cinching tighter around her hips. I’m expecting some moans into my neck, but definitely not the teeth that clamp onto my skin with what feels like piercing force, all but pushing me over the edge. As I yowl in shock and pain, this aggressive urge overcomes me, and with a savage grunt I jam one finger deep inside her pussy.

Now it’s her turn to yelp with wide eyes, and admittedly I feel no shame at the satisfaction that brings me. I think she can read it in my expression, because hers goes dark even as she squeezes my finger and rocks her hips, indicating some level of enjoyment. A visceral gnarl and rough hands prove her indignation as she moves her mouth to target a new piece of flesh on the other side. I don’t let up either, mercilessly pulling on the rough patch on her front wall as I rock my finger in and out of her. In lieu of adding a second one, despite immense temptation, I bury my nails deep in her flesh and drag them down her back agonizingly slowly.

Katniss muffles a mild scream in my skin, biting hard into the makeshift gag of my neck, and the accumulating pressure inside me balloons to the verge of bursting. Turning my head so my lips are at her ear, I rasp, “I’m gonna come.” She groans with arousal and approval, pushing herself to go just a little bit faster and harder as she adds her thumb back into the mix.

The extra jolts of sensation kick me closer and closer to the brink, and when her breath catches near my ear I go flying off into oblivion. A headrush slams me and steals my consciousness of anything other than the stars I’m seeing and my whole crotch seizing and swallowing her fingers. Well, I do catch an echo of a string of profanity mixed with some embarrassingly shrill noises, but it takes me a moment of blinking and hoarse panting to realize they were tumbling off my tongue. I’m still recovering my wits when I get my eyes to focus on Katniss, her jaw slack and pupils blown as she stares at me mutely. Virgins.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” I smirk, nodding down at her paralyzed hand.

She flicks her gaze to it for a second before cocking her head. “I thought you… I thought it was over.”

Chuckling, I drop my hand from her pussy to mine so I can draw out the last ebbs of pleasure from that ridiculously intense orgasm. Her stare follows my hand until I address her again. “We’re not dudes, shooting off and then going soft. You gotta bring a girl down slowly, you know.” Her eyes flit away and mine narrow. “Wait, don’t you know?” The slight bob of her throat and continued aversion of her eyes answer that. “But I thought you’d…”

“Barely,” she admits, scratching behind her suddenly flushed ear. “I never felt the need until things started happening with you. But I share a bed with Prim and a room with my mom anyway. And it’s not like I have any time during the day.” Lifting her eyes, she points out, “Most of my precious free time, I spend with you.”

That just makes me smirk again. “Sorry to hear I’ve been holding you back, Everdeen.”

“You haven’t, I-” She cuts herself off, looking rather helpless, so I take pity on her and crane my neck to deliver a peck to those uncertain lips.

“Maybe I should help you with that.”

Her eyes flicker at the low timbre of my voice, then she nods slightly before curling a hand behind my neck and pulling me in for a deeper kiss. I oblige, shifting my weight after a few seconds to roll us back over. This time, she doesn't put up a fight. In fact, she moans her approval as I slide my fingers back into her folds, resuming my work on her exterior. Until she realizes I'm not quite hitting the spot she wants. Needs.

Katniss squirms restlessly under my weight, trying to get my fingers in the right place. “Joha- Jo, higher,” she grunts. So I drag my fingers up but split them at the last second, letting them glide past the nub on either side. Her eyes narrow as she realizes my intentions. “Fuck you, Mason.”

I chuckle into her neck before kissing down to her collarbone and sinking my teeth in there, procuring several more obscenities from my frustrated girlfriend. It’s not ideal, but I don’t want to mark her somewhere visible. I mean, I do, but I shouldn’t. I already know I’ll be sporting some juicy bruises in the morning, but a) no one will find that shocking and b) I won’t have to explain them to my mother.

Everdeen’s whines and fingers twisting in my hair finally win me over, and I kiss a path down her body for a second time, still teasing her runway and folds. My free hand trails just behind my lips, and when I catch a glimpse of it I pause. Coagulating blood is caked under a couple of my nails. And here I thought it would be the other hand making her bleed, if any. The sight makes me flit my eyes up to catch hers, but she’s still glaring impatiently, clearly not wanting to waste any more time, even for apologies. So I do the next best thing, ending her torment.

Shuffling back on my knees, I surf the faint trail of hair under her belly button with a few quick kisses, pulling up when I reach the dark curls at its terminus. Then, curling my arms under and around her thighs, I finally give in to the urge I resisted earlier and allow myself to stare. Seeing and smelling how wet she is makes my eyes and jaw fall open with a tiny moan. A slight pull on my scalp brings me back to my senses, and I glance up to see how Katniss is reacting. From the look on her face, it appears her squirming is more from unmet desire than embarrassment. Good.

Before she can tear my hair out, I lower my head and flatten my warm tongue against her clit. She jerks and shudders, drawing a small moan of arousal from me as she gasps at the new sensation. I stay there until she whimpers again, then sweep my tongue between her folds and into her entrance. Just inside, enough to trace her rim and slurp up some of those juices. I just about lose my head in there, unable to process. I’m finally tasting Katniss Everdeen, and it’s like the world has just now fallen into place. But I stay sane enough to drag my tongue back up and swirl it around the pulsing little organ, making her legs quake in my grip.

“Fuck,” Katniss whispers hoarsely, and I blink up in time to see her eyes squeezing shut and her other hand weaving into her bangs and digging into her own scalp. Well, at least I’m not the only one. Not that I’m complaining. The pain is a big part of what’s making my groin flare up again. But I push that aside as much as possible and focus on her, flicking and fluttering my tongue and pulling her knees over my shoulders to better accommodate my positioning. Also because it’s hot. Especially once those flexing thighs squeeze tight around my head.

Ragged groans start pouring out of her along with more arousal as I continue, rubbing hard and circling again, placing occasional kisses on her burning fragrant skin. When I wrap my lips around the nub and give it a few soft suckles, her hips tremble as much as her breaking voice. Urged on by this, I suck harder and am rewarded by a cry of pleasure and heels digging sharply into my back. My nails gouge under her hips in response, heedless of her previous injuries. She doesn’t protest, only releases her face and twists the blanket under her in a death grip.

A few pulsing sucks and grazes of my teeth later, a surprised shout climbs out of her throat and her hips buck violently against my face, clit pulsing under my tongue. My eyes roll back in their sockets with an aroused groan, but I keep my focus and maintain pace until a shuddering moan graces my ears. Then I slowly dial it down, lifting my gaze to catch her reaction. Her palm is covering her eyes again, chest heaving with effort. My tongue takes over for my lips and alternates between circling her scarlet nub and cleaning up the rest of her intimate area. I’ve been doing this awhile by the time the fact fully dawns on me. I just gave Katniss her first orgasm. Ever. Holy fuck.

Planting one last kiss on her clit, I slither up her body and throw her a saucy grin. “See what I mean about bringing you down slowly?” Her eyes are still glazed over, but she manages a speechless nod. I cock an eyebrow to prompt a verbal response.

“Yes,” she replies, her voice rough from use and lingering lust. “I’ll remember.”

“Good,” I grin, leaning down to kiss her. It starts a little slow because she’s still recovering her faculties, but when my tongue worms its way through her lips and onto hers, her eyes grow a little. Right. She’s probably never tasted that before either. Attempting to purge my remaining hunger with a sigh, I curl up and throw an arm and a leg over her body, resting my head on her chest to listen to her heart slowing.

After a few moments, I feel Katniss lifting and turning her head. “Were we supposed to get under the covers at some point?”

“It’s optional,” I chuckle. Catching her eye conspiratorially, I add, “I was enjoying the view.” While she groans and rolls her eyes, I get up and pull back the blankets and top sheet as far as I can. “Go on, get in.” Once she’s nestled inside, I crawl in after her, lying on my back and extending my arm in an offer to switch positions. But like the night before I left, Katniss stubbornly rolls me onto my side and smothers me from behind. Her grip loosens pretty quickly, though, giving her room to press her lips to the back of my neck.

Those lips pull a few satisfied hums from my chest as they migrate across my shoulders. But I feel less and less satisfied as she continues down my spine and those innocent pecks evolve into breathy open-mouthed kisses. I wasn’t expecting a second round out of this, but it looks more and more like that’s what she’s gunning for when her left hand begins grazing down my stomach and her mouth starts to wander, taking detours over the muscles of my upper back. Soft groans push their way out of me and I squeeze my legs together to stem the rush I feel building up.

Her mouth eventually resumes its downward course, and has just cleared the tips of my shoulder blades when she reaches between my legs. Her fingers dip into the dam and pull back, slicking and stimming my oversensitive clit in one motion. I can’t help the way my hips jolt and a pathetic whimper puffs out of my mouth, but I refrain from any other motion, letting her take this where she wants. I feel her slithering down the bed a little so her lips can reach the arch of my back while she continues with slow strokes of her fingers. Though her movement is decisive as she cups my inner thigh to roll me onto my back, her demeanor is uncharacteristically shy when she makes eye contact.

“Can I try?”

It takes me a second to realize what she means, and then my lips split as I hold in an affectionate laugh. Like she needs permission. I’ve wanted to beg it of her ever since that day at the lake.

“Of course,” I reply, spreading my legs in invitation. “But you’re a notoriously fast learner, so I expect this to be good, Everdeen.” I anticipate that comment spurring her on to protect her ego, but instead she chuckles sheepishly and brushes her bangs out of her face. Then she crawls over my leg and settles on her stomach, eyeing up this latest challenge. My eyes are wide with arousal, refusing to blink and miss an instant of this as she lowers her face and pokes her tongue out to probe my burning clit.

It doesn’t even matter whether she’s good or not because I’m already super worked up from making her come and this latest molestation. Not to mention the visual of Katniss’s face between my legs. But she actually isn’t bad at all. Her tongue flutters eagerly, spreading heat and pleasure out of my groin and into my gut and beyond. As I start to feel the first stirrings of an impending orgasm, I weave both hands in her hair. I’m aware that I’m getting her blood and cum in it, but I am utterly incapable of caring at the moment.

My level of arousal suddenly spikes when Katniss moans a little, the sound muffled in my folds. The thought that she is that turned on just by eating me out is so ridiculously sexy, but then I notice a slight rhythmic movement in her shoulder and my pussy spasms with a new realization. She’s touching herself. That’s why she’s making those noises. Far from finding this disappointing, I decide to help her along as much as I can from this position.

“Fuck, Everdeen, your tongue feels so good,” I whine. “You’re gonna make me come again.” Her hips buck as she whimpers, pushing her face forward, so she latches on with her lips and sucks my pulsing bundle of nerves. My knees fall open wider and my head tips back, mind clouding over with pleasure, but I still manage to form some more words. “Yes, suck me off, babe. I wanna come in your mouth.”

Those words have just as great an effect on me as her, apparently, because the instant the reverberations of her moan hit my clit, it explodes and sends a shockwave through my body. One that makes me convulse for several seconds, mute but for a few squeaks. When my body recovers to the point of subtle quivering, my chest heaves out heavy breaths laced with profanity and Katniss slows to gentle licks. Not that I’m not enjoying the feeling of her tongue working magic between my legs, I relinquish it to lift her face and beckon her closer, pulling her hand down to draw me out in its place. As she comes within range, I slide my hand down to take over on her, making her eyes squeeze shut with relief.

“That was amazing,” I praise her genuinely, slowly ramping up my pace. She groans quietly in response and lifts her face, eyes squeaking open again. Reaching out with a smile, I instruct her, “Come here, baby.”

Our mouths connect again, but to exchange gasps rather than kisses. I’m still coming down and she’s getting really close. She rocks against my hand as I achieve full speed, whimpers pouring out of her lips. I haven’t been battering her pussy for more than thirty seconds before a tremor starts in her hips and I kiss my way along her jaw.

Brushing my lips against her ear, I whisper, “Come for me, Katniss.”

Her whole body jolts at my words, the muscles under my hand seizing tight. Her exclamation of pleasure is broken and sharp, like crying, matching the quaking of her body as she rides it out. As we slow in unison, she catches my eyes with intense focus, her vocalizations diminishing to satisfied pants broken by an occasional low moan.

Once she’s gotten her fill, Katniss shifts around and lowers herself to rest half on me and half on the mattress. While she settles her head on my chest, I subtly wipe my hand on the sheet and then move it to cover hers where it rests on my stomach. She hums in approval, lacing our fingers together. Some peaceful moments later, she looks up with a puny, hopeful smirk that contrasts the faint creases in her brow. “Was it worth the wait?”

The level of confidence in her tone tells me she’s fairly certain of the answer. Still, I am more than happy to clear it up.

“It was. You were.”

***

Far from some of the serene awakenings I’ve had in Katniss’s arms, it’s my alarm that rouses me in the morning with an unwelcome blaring. After a few seconds of confused indignance, I locate my nemesis and shoot my hand out to swat the snooze button. Katniss groans her displeasure behind me and presses her forehead against my back, blocking out the faint light of dawn filtering in through the drapes. Echoing her, I turn over so her head is buried in my chest. Better.

“Morning,” I mutter, and her face tilts up, eyes suddenly alert. I smirk knowingly. The rasp in my voice even turns me on, if I’m being honest. My eyes wander down her neck and settle on some choice bruises along her collarbone. My mouth only grows wider at the sight, and she just blushes and bounces her eyes away. “You sleep well?”

“You mean other than being up really late?” Her sheepish eyes flick back to me and she smiles. “Yeah, I did.” Brushing some hair from my face, she murmurs, “You slept like a baby.”

“Mm. Someone wore me out. Wasn’t expecting that from you.”

“Neither was I,” she admits, a bit of color returning to her cheeks.

Something half yawn, half grumble squeaks out of me as I lie there holding her gaze, and I begrudgingly roll onto my back. “I don’t wanna go. Today’s gonna suck.”

“Because you’re tired?” she mumbles.

“No, that I can handle.” Her tired squint makes me sigh. “I blew things up with Darius.”

“What?” Katniss pushes herself up on her elbow, confusion coloring her features. “But he’s your best friend.”

Blank eyes on the ceiling, I shake my head. “We’re not friends. I don’t think that’s possible now.”

“So you’re just giving up?” The hint of distasteful mockery in her tone draws my eyes over to find hers narrowed. My growing discomfort forces me to roll out of bed and start gathering pieces of my uniform.

“What do you care?” I shoot over my shoulder, dropping my dog tags around my neck.

A moment of hesitation later, she grumbles, “You might already know this, because Darius can’t keep his mouth shut, but I apologized to him for being a dick that day at the Hob.”

“He may have mentioned it,” I shrug, flitting my eyes over to catch her reaction. There isn’t much of one.

“Well, I didn’t do that just to have you throw it all out the window,” she replies while I step into a fresh pair of underwear. “I did that for you. I like Darius’s company, I like him, but I’d be fine if he disappeared and never came back.”

I shoot her a condescending glare as I hike my pants up over my hips. “Was that supposed to be an argument? Because you just said what I said, brainless.”

“I embarrassed myself in front of the dude to try to smooth things over for the two of you,” she spells out, some of her hostility sapped by the spectacle she’s blatantly watching. “I don’t like apologizing.”

“Jeez, and I thought Darius was the master of using guilt,” I scoff, pulling up my bra straps.

The girl’s smirk is audible. “Turns out I’m good at a lot of things.”

Turning my face her way, I eye her dubiously. “Uh huh.”

“Do you deny it?” Her eye dance with playful arrogance, making mine narrow.

“I require more data to come to a sound conclusion,” I reply flatly, letting my mouth curl only the slightest bit. Katniss giggles. She actually giggles. Grinning, I saunter over and lean down, giving her a prime view of my cleavage. “We’ll have to do this again sometime. For science.”

Desire darkens her eyes and voice. “I think I could be convinced.” As she leans in for a kiss, I pull back with a sadistic grin and whip my shirt on. She pouts momentarily, then her face falls flat as I settle on the foot of the bed to lace up my boots. “I guess I should get up too.”

Glancing around the room, I shrug. “You can stay here, sleep a little longer. Just let yourself out after.” I flick my eyes up and down her body, wrinkling my nose comically. “Maybe take a shower.”

Katniss lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “What about not being able to protect me if I get caught here?”

I chuckle to myself as I tie my second boot, then stand and rake my eyes over her exposed neck and collarbones. “I think, given the marks on your chest, they’ll believe I let you in.” Katniss ducks her chin to try and get a look, then snaps her gaze back up as a blush infiltrates her cheeks.

Stalking closer once more, I smirk and rest one knee on the bed, supporting my weight as I lean down again. Planting my hands on either side of her, I dip my head to give her a fierce parting kiss. She cups my jawbone with one hand, balancing her weight on her opposite elbow, and I’m tempted to knock her on her back. But that’s sure to delay me getting to work, so I refrain.

When I pull back, I find her eyes earnest. “I love you,” she tells me softly, stroking her thumb over my cheek, which tightens with an embarrassingly large and instant smile.

“I love you too,” I reply, before planting a hard final peck on her lips. In an attempt to save a shred of pride, I wrinkle my nose again and and repeat, “Take that shower.” Katniss rolls her eyes as I stand up with a triumphant grin. Before she has time to formulate a comeback, I grab my uniform jacket and sling it on as I head out the door.

A surprising energy buoys me despite my sleep deprivation while I inhale my breakfast and coffee in the Commune. I’m actually chatty, a rarity in the morning. As a group of us are dropping our dishes in the kitchen before the briefing, Athena brushes up beside me and remarks, “You’re sure chipper this morning.” My hesitant glance reveals the mischief in her eyes, and I groan internally. “Who was she?”

“As if I’d tell you,” I scoff. “Your bestie is one of the biggest blabbermouths in the barracks.”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” she singsongs. “I’ll just list off every girl who’s not a night shifter. Eventually, I’ll get it right.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I snort as we enter the room. We’re some of the last ones in, and I spot Darius already sitting with a couple of his buddies over in the far corner. He must know I’m here, but doesn’t bother giving me even a glance of acknowledgement. Unfortunately, I can’t be sure why. If Athena heard Katniss and I last night, chances are he did too, but it’s more than probable he’s still pissed about our spat yesterday. Hoping it’s only the latter, I turn back to my currently less intimidating neighbor. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t,” she grins. “You’re just really fun to tease.”

I huff and roll my eyes just as Purnia strides in and calls us to attention. Not that I pay her much of any. I have some very good recent memories clogging up my consciousness. It’s only once my coworkers start standing around me that I realize I never heard my name called. “Shit, Thena, what was my assignment?”

Athena squints in thought. “I don’t think you got one.” Shrugging, she adds, “Maybe she forgot you’re back.” The mere concept of that is insulting, but I nod gratefully and approach our boss as the others file out to gear up.

“Hey, Captain Stark,” is my energetic greeting. “I’m back now,” I remind her with an emphatic, sassy wave.

“I noticed,” she remarks flatly.

“Well, you didn’t give me any assignment.” One of my eyebrows crawls up my forehead. “Don’t tell me it’s to keep you company all day. You miss me that much?”

“I’ll admit, it was rough with you away,” she deadpans. “It was so boring not being sassed every day.”

I stick my tongue out at her. “Glad to be of service.”

“You’re the third body in the Square today,” she informs me, placing the clipboard on the desk. “I kept you behind because we need to talk.”

Blood is already draining from my head, but I play it as cool as possible. “What about?”

“I think you know what about.” Jerking her head at the exit beyond me, she commands, “Close the door.” My legs feel like jelly as I move to follow the order. I’m about halfway back to her when I dare to lift my head. Hers is cocked condescendingly. “You really think you can get away with anything, don’t you?”

Gulping down the lump in my dry throat, I reply, “I’m sorry, Captain. I should have been more discreet.”

“No shit,” scoffs Purnia. “When you leave bruises on someone’s neck, there’s no denying what happened.” What? I thought the high collar on my jacket covered all my hickeys. I may have been wrong about not having to explain them to my mommy.

“I’m not sure the bruises are any of your business,” I mutter defensively, self-consciously shrugging my shoulders to raise my gear up to my chin. Her features harden and muscles go rigid, straightening her up to her full height as she pulls a sharp, angry breath in through her nose. No match for that death glare, I wilt uncharacteristically and backtrack, “Just where I got them.”

“Where _you_ got them?” she demands, squinting bewilderedly. “What are you talking about?” Shit.

“Nothing,” I innocently blink, “what are you talking about?”

“Not any bruises of yours,” she retorts drolly. “I don’t care who you get them from, Mason. Not as long as you show up and do your job.” I’m releasing a premature sigh of relief when she informs me, “Captain Rawley has served me papers regarding your behavior in the field, demanding an inquiry and possible disciplinary action.”

“What?” My suddenly wide eyes flick up. “I’ve never even worked with Rawley.”

“It came from below,” clarifies Purnia. “The incident in question was reported by Agent Milo Fields.”

“Wait, he filed a complaint?” Rage is boiling up in my chest even before she nods. “The gall of that son of a bitch!”

The Captain’s eyes roll subtly, matching her dry tone. “Some nerve he has, reporting an assault.”

“Oh, did he not report the other assault?” I retort. “You know, his attempted sexual assault on one of the miners in our care? How I had to give her stitches?”

Purnia’s voice goes low and deadly. “What?”

“Cedric really sucks at his job, you know,” I scoff. “He’s supposed to report these kinds of incidents, not cover them up.”

“Yes, and you’re supposed to police the locals, not date them,” she quips.

“Katniss and I aren’t hurting anyone,” I protest. “But Fields… you should have seen how scared Jordan was.”

Her brow furrows. “Your sister?”

“No, the girl.” When her expression fails to change, I realize name-dropping may not have been the smartest move. Especially not for someone whose loyalties are already in question. So my mind spins in search of a better explanation for my vested interest. “Look, Purnia, I… I understand what that feels like,” I reveal, eyebrow cocked to confirm the implication of my words. Flickering eyes accompany a telling twitch of her jaw, and I’m able to relax a little. “I may have gone overboard. But I wanted to make sure he’d leave her alone.”

“And you felt that strangling him and uttering death threats was the best way to ensure that?”

“I didn’t threaten to kill him, I threatened to disembowel and castrate him,” I argue.

“My mistake,” she snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Look, I knew she couldn’t stand up for herself the way I could. She could have been executed just for fighting back in self-defense, if it’s her word against his. I know how easy it is for Peacekeepers to abuse their power.” Shaking my head, my gaze falls to my feet. “God knows I did, my first day.”

“What were you thinking?” hisses Purnia. “This could cost you your career, your pension, everything.”

“Never thought he’d have the humility to admit he got his ass handed to him by a woman,” I admit. “Sexist prick.”

“Well, he did. So what do you want to do about it?”

Fingers drumming on my crossed arms, I finally lift my head. “If Cray interrogates me, I’ll tell the truth.” I pop my eyes meaningfully. “The whole truth. There are other Peacekeepers who can corroborate my story, if they’re willing to get involved.”

“You’re willing to risk your tongue on the goodness of other people?” Her tone and expression clearly say she thinks I’m an idiot. It only stokes my smoldering fury. “Even if Cray believes you, siding with a local suggests you’re a traitor.”

“No, Purnia,” I drawl with a sarcastic scowl. “It suggests I have a fucking conscience.”

Neither of us blinks for a long moment. Eventually, she picks up her clipboard, still leveling those icy eyes at me. “I’ll talk to Rawley. I have a feeling that once he knows the whole story, he’ll want to make this go away.”

“Bury it,” I scoff. “Great.”

“It’s best for everyone if this isn’t documented, Agent,” she barks. “Especially you.” I bite my lip, eyes surrendering the battle. Purnia sighs heavily and shifts her weight. “Listen, Jo,” she starts, placing a hand on my shoulder and calling my gaze back to her. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. But I can only protect you so much. You may want to reevaluate your priorities.”

“I’m not breaking up with Katniss,” I state unequivocally. “I love her.”

“Then that’s even worse,” she sighs. Eyes and voice grave, she declares, “This is going to destroy you.”

Those words burr and settle deep in my core, roughening my voice. “I didn’t think you minded.”

“As your commanding officer, no,” she specifies. “But as your friend, yes.” Mouth twitching, she briefly cups my cheek before brushing by me. “Good luck, Johanna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for her patience and her help with this chapter, and her continued commitment to betaing my works.
> 
> I am moving my focus to finish the newest chapter of Lifeblood next. I may do one more after that before returning to this fic, but there's still lots of fun to come. The Reaping is looming ever closer.


	14. Family Feuds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. I've been working on LB 20 but I had too much inspiration for this chapter not to write it. In case anybody missed it, the last chapter was... kind of important. So maybe make sure you're up to date first. It was posted quite recently.
> 
> FYI, I made a few small changes to earlier chapters, the only notable one being adjusting the size of the house at the lake. "12 feet square" is a little ambiguous, but upon rereading chapter 10 of Catching Fire, it became apparent I'd gotten it wrong.

It’s the last Sunday of May by the time I finally get to give Katniss her birthday present, and the air is still warm well into the afternoon. My armor and both our jackets were tossed aside long ago. It’s too early in the year for us mere humans to brave the lake again, but the waterfowl have returned, as we were counting on. They’re easy pickings, and really the only way Katniss could justify forgoing her usual Sunday hunt to make this trek.

The long hike was necessary to ensure we wouldn’t be heard. Even with a suppressor and the deep forest we’ve set up in muffling the gunshots, there’s a chance the echoes could carry back to the district even from this distance. I decided against bringing any larger guns out to play to keep the volume to a minimum, so I’m watching from a short distance as my pupil picks off targets with my handgun, which is usually all I’ll carry in terms of firearms anyway. I have nothing to compensate for.

As for Katniss, her accuracy is chill-inducing. So is her lethal focus and the set of her jaw, just in a different way. Just watching her, heat and tension are blooming in my gut. I’ve maintained my professionalism and made sure all our recent training sessions were productive, despite the cloistering sexual energy in the air. And this is for fun, anyway. I’m due for a break. As she ejects the last magazine and pulls her earmuffs down, I expel a low whistle. “That’s really fucking hot.”

Katniss pauses mid movement, cocks an eyebrow. “You have a thing for women with guns?”

“Maybe,” I drawl slyly. “I definitely have a thing for you with a gun. Or any weapon, really.” Her lips curl up a bit, and I smirk. “The first time I saw you shoot an arrow was when I figured out how I felt about you.”

Her teeth play at her lip momentarily. “I felt you watching me. I wasn’t sure if that was why, but I kind of hoped so.” As a smug grin takes over my face, she backtracks, “Don’t get me wrong, I despised you, but I wanted you to like me.” She shrugs. “I liked feeling like you cared.”

“You despised me, huh? That why you brought me the sunglasses?”

“That was a business deal,” she parries.

“Uh huh.” Tilting my head, I start a slow, stalking approach. “Is that why you missed the shot? Because I made you nervous?”

“I don’t perform well with an audience,” she grumbles. “When I was first hunting with Gale, I had the same problem.”

“Really?” Stopping a foot away, I drag my eyes over her body. “I haven’t noticed you having any performance issues.”

Finally catching on, Katniss flicks her eyes about. “Here?” she all but whispers.

“No one to hear you scream,” I wink, relieving her of the empty firearm and tossing it on the forest floor. My earmuffs quickly follow. “No audience to worry about.”

Mouth gaping and dry, she makes a few failed attempts at speaking before reaching for my collar and yanking on my dog tags to draw me in. Surprised, I grin into her kiss. When Katniss twists the ball chain, constricting my airway just a little, my libido surges and I jam my tongue in her mouth, stealing her breath right back.

Walking her backward, I set the girl down on a fallen log and kneel in the dirt, hands already going for her belt. Needy hands grip my hair and neck as I unbuckle it in seconds and move on to tearing open her pants, ripping them down her legs. The log is an awkward height and she’s half sitting, half standing against it, but it’s perfect for my purposes. As I peel down her underwear, I look up to find her staring slack-jawed. For all the fun we’ve had in the last week and a half, this is a new first. Shooting her a wink, I slip my tongue into her folds.

“Holy shit.” Rough, bitten-off nails dig into my scalp and whimpers fill my ears as I drag my tongue back and forth. “Hanna?”

Smiling into her, I pull back to circle her warm nub. As she gasps, I blink up innocently. “Mm?”

Eyes squeezing shut, she grunts and pulls me closer. After a moment of struggle, she gets out, “Thank you. That was a really great birthday present.”

I give my tongue a little flutter before using it to speak. Smirking up at her, I point out, “Who says it’s over?”

She gets only a handful of words out after that, most of them curses. Too aroused to take my time, I finish her within a couple of minutes. Fiercely shaking my head while sucking hard does the trick and she spasms, folding at the waist with a surprisingly high shriek. Her hands go from clutching to cradling my head as she comes down, panting and stroking my jaw as it continues its service. I spend a few moments sweeping through her crevices and drinking up all her juices before pulling away and peeking up. Eyes still hooded, Katniss rubs her thumb over my hairline.

“Do you… need…”

I stand, pulling her pants up with me, and shake my head with a saucy grin. “I’m good.” I fully intend on taking care of it later when I have more time and a spank bank freshly brimming with her moans and shivers, but there’s no need to spell that out.

She nods and shakily refastens her pants and belt, then pushes off the log to retrieve the weapon I tossed away. Her unsteady gait makes me beam with a perverse kind of satisfaction, but thankfully her back is to me.

“At least there won’t be bruises this time,” she remarks, gingerly straightening up from collecting the gun. “It’s been tricky making sure my mom doesn't see me in my bra. There’s been some close calls.”

“That’s why I keep suggesting you shower,” I tell her. “So she won't smell the sex on you.”

Her eyes blink cluelessly a few times before going wide. “It has a smell?”

Unsure if she’s fucking kidding, I narrow my eyes doubtfully. “You really haven’t noticed?” The brunette shrugs, and I snicker. “You’re adorable.”

No surprise, she glares in return as she yanks her jacket on. But heeding my advice, she asks, “Does that mean I need to go jump in the lake now?”

“Nah, it was quick, and I cleaned you up nicely,” I say. “You should be good.” Smirking, I turn to grab my uniform jacket off the branch it’s slung over. “Just don’t go creaming your pants at the memory on the way home.” I’ve just shrugged it on when something soft but heavy smacks into my back. I turn curiously and see the bulging game bag lying at my feet, its owner glowering at me from eight feet away. “Rude.”

“You’re rude,” she scoffs. “Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

“You love it,” I grin, stalking closer.

“Do not,” she retorts.

Grabbing her by the lapels, I yank her in and kiss her. With lots of tongue, so she can taste herself. That shuts her up, aside from a few quiet moans. When I disengage, she stares at me with dazed eyes. “Do too.”

After one more peck, I snatch my helmet and vest from the ground and suit up. Katniss returns my gear and retrieves her own weapons, then stalks off silently. But she’s long stopped smoldering by the time we make it to our tree some hours later, and we exchange another kiss, followed by a long hug.

“See you Tuesday?” I confirm, tracing her jawbone. Adding a hopeful wink, I venture, “Or sooner?”

“I have to skip Tuesday this week,” mumbles Katniss, dropping her eyes. “I forgot to tell you.”

Crossing my arms, I dissolve into an exaggerated pout, petulant lower lip and all. “But why?”

“It’s Prim’s birthday,” she explains. “Gale and I are going to hunt right after school so I can get home early and make Prim’s party, spend the whole evening with her and Mom.” This is understandable, if inconvenient, so I quirk my mouth and give a reluctant nod. I’m about to suggest she sleep over tomorrow to make up for it when she adds, “And I want to be there when she wakes up too, so I’ll be sleeping at home on Monday.”

“You sure know how to treat a girl,” I huff. “Too bad she’s your sister.”

Katniss shoots me a glare. “Just how much of my time do you need, Johanna?”

“Sorry, I…” Blinking away my surprise, I speculate, “I thought you wanted…”

“I do,” sighs Katniss, her aggression fading. “But I miss my family.”

That, I can understand. “Believe it or not, so do I,” I admit.

Katniss snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“No, I do. They suck sometimes but… they’re where I’m from, you know?” Tipping my head, I divulge, “I haven’t spoken to Josh or Jordan since I got here. My parents, all of twice.” Her eyes bulge with this new information, and I can’t help a small chuckle at her naivete. “Communication with our families isn’t exactly encouraged. It’s seen as a distraction. That’s why we can’t get married or have kids during our service.”

“You can’t?” Her brow furrows further when I shake my head. “But what if you, you know, have an accident?”

“They give you a magic pill to make it go away,” I shrug. “Unpleasant, but effective.”

Gray eyes flicker. “What, did you…?”

“God, no,” I interject. “I’ve just heard from some of the other girls.”

Katniss chews on her cheek, gaze elsewhere. “That really sucks, though. Unless you're in your home district, you don’t see your family. And you can't make a new one.”

“It’s part of the job. We know that when we sign up.” I shrug. “And we get a bit of leave here and there. Maybe every couple of years. It’s not so bad.”

Katniss stares at me for a moment before suggesting, “Do you want to come to Prim’s party?”

“Like as your date?”

“No, like as a friend,” she smirks. “Prim adores you, I'm sure she'd love it if you showed up.”

One eyebrow lifts high on my forehead. “But would your mom like it?”

“I don’t think she has a problem with you. She’s just a little wary of Peacekeepers. Who isn't?”

“Lots of townspeople. And Hobsters, if they know us,” I answer swiftly. “She was born a Townie.”

“Yeah, but her kids are Seam,” argues Katniss. “She’s been both, she knows the difference.”

“So, what, I just have to prove my intentions are good?”

“You’re a good person, Hanna,” she insists. “She’ll see that, if she hasn't already.” 

I only deliberate for a few seconds before giving in. “When should I come?”

“Party’s from four-thirty to six. I’ll probably be late as it is, so I don’t know when you’ll want to show up.” Rolling her shoulders nervously, she suggests, “It’ll just be us after six, but maybe Mom would let you stay for dinner.”

“Dinner with the parents? Interrogation time?” Mock horror contorts my face. “We’re really getting serious now, aren’t we?” Katniss answers that with only a smile and a kiss. Squinting into her eyes as she pulls back, I ask, “Why are you doing this?”

Her lingering thumb brushes my cheek. “Everyone needs family. Even us.”

***

The bell above the bakery door rattles as I push it open not half an hour later. I had only 48 hours to come up with something to get Prim, but I got a great idea before I even made it back to the barracks. The storefront appears deserted as I close the door behind me, but one of the sons emerges from behind the swinging door to the back within seconds. His immediate friendly smile says he recognizes me as he wipes his floury hands on his apron and approaches the counter.

“Hi,” he greets me, “what can I get for you today?”

“Hey,” I respond with a nod, trying to place his identity. He’s the shortest of the three brothers, but obviously that doesn’t always correlate with birth order. I mean, it did in my family, but whatever. Bad example. I decide not to assume anything. “Can I speak to Peeta?”

“You already are,” the boy grins, baby blue eyes sparkling. “What do you need?”

“I hear you make the cakes around here.”

“Oh, I decorate the cakes,” he clarifies. “But yeah, I do the artwork. If you want a custom design, I’m the person to talk to.”

“You did the cake for my boss last month,” I acknowledge with an impressed eyebrow lift. “‘Aye, aye, Captain!’ It was very nice.”

“That one,” he chuckles. “It took a long time, by far the biggest I’ve ever decorated. That redhead really shelled out for it. Does he have a crush on her or something?”

“We probably all do,” I smirk provocatively. Leaning in, I purr, “There’s something very attractive about an aloof, self-assured woman.”

“Heh,” he snickers, eyes turned upward. “That’s fair.” He’s got that charming smile back as he catches my gaze again. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in outdoing him? Massive cake declaring your love?”

“No,” I laugh. “Just something for my friend’s kid sister. It’s her birthday coming up.”

“Big party?” he suggests, eyebrow cocked. “Lots of kids?”

“God, I hope not,” I groan. “I’m just after something small. They’re Seam, they won’t turn their nose up at it.”

“Oh, all right,” he sighs exaggeratedly, though his eyes still gleam disarmingly. I can’t help but roll mine and give in in some way.

Tilting my head, I assure him, “But if you do a good job, I’ll give you a tip as handsome as you, how’s that?”

The blonde leans back with renewed cheer, planting his dusty hands on the counter. “Deal.” Bending down to fish something out from under one of the displays, he comes up with a sketchpad. “What were you thinking?”

“Primroses,” I muse aloud. “That’s her name. But ‘Happy birthday, Prim,’ is good in terms of script. She doesn’t really use her full name.”

The boy’s voice is thoughtful as he mutters, “Uh huh.”

“Maybe a nanny goat and an orange tabby cat, if you can work them in,” I add. A blank moment later, I conclude, “That’s all that comes to mind.”

I peek at the pad in time to see him finish a couple notes on the top corner of the page. He’s wearing a surprisingly serious expression as he looks back up. “You’re friends with Katniss.”

Double my surprise. I try to blink it from my face. “You know her?”

“She’s in my year,” he shrugs, eyes flitting away. Oh, fuck, I thought he was older than that. That’s only slightly embarrassing. “How do you know her?”

“Oh, you know, I’ve arrested her a few times,” I deadpan. His pale face goes a shade whiter. Despite this sort of being the desired effect, I don’t want him to worry, so I ease up with a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m kidding,” I fib, then follow it up with a truth of sorts. “I know her from the Hob.”

“Right, of course,” he says, shaking his head. “Obviously.” Clearing his throat, he retrieves his warm smile. “When do you need it for?”

“The cake? Uh, Tuesday afternoon. Five-ish should be good.”

“Perfect,” he ponders with a bobbing head. “I’ll do some sketches tonight. If you come back tomorrow after school, you can give your approval then and we can talk price.”

“Great,” I smile. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” he deflects, extending a hand. “Lovely doing business with you.”

My lips curl of their own free will. He’s already quite the businessman. Or salesman, at least. He’ll do well for himself. Accepting his handshake, I drawl, “The pleasure was all mine.”

***

After dinner on Monday, I find myself pacing around my room, debating whether or not it’s worth it to try calling home. The monetary cost is manageable, but I don’t feel like I have anything to say to the family I supposedly need. Nothing my parents would want to hear, anyway. And it’s not like they’ve tried contacting me in the last couple months. But there’s a chance I could intercept my brother around six o’clock, when the mine is closing and they’ve loaded the last of the cargo trucks for the day. It’s generally quite a process to set up a time to talk to family, but it’s made easier when one of them works in the same building as the phone.

A knock interrupts my deliberations, stopping me in my tracks. I stride over to the door and open it to see Darius standing there uneasily. “Hey, Jo. Can we talk?”

The door frame supports my weight as I look him over, arms folded. “Can we go next door?”

“Uh, sure,” he shrugs, meandering back through his open door. I make sure to shut mine behind me. He’s sitting on the bed when I enter, leaving his swivel chair for me. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in your own space,” he comments as I rotate it and sit on it backwards, knees straddling and elbows sitting atop the backrest.

Shaking my head, I pointedly remark, “I want to be able to leave when I want to.”

He ducks his head, the reference clearly not going over it. “I’m sorry, about the last time we talked. I should have just left you alone. It was obviously what you wanted.”

“Then why did you keep bugging me?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I guess I just wanted to feel like I was helping. Could help.” Despite his nonchalant shrug, it sounds as pathetic as it is when he says, “Like I mattered to you.”

“You matter,” I reply bluntly.

“Then why…” Darius trails off, squinting. “You were just kind of mean.”

I’m not sure what he expected. I’m not someone who’s known for going out of my way to be nice. But neither is Katniss, and she took a step his way. Maybe I should too, if only so she won’t yell at me. Purposely sinking out of my aggressive posture, I acknowledge, “I know. I shouldn’t have jumped on you that way. It must have seemed pretty out of the blue.” It was for me. I’ve been disproportionately mad at him since, finally processing my feelings over the matter while also enjoying Katniss’s company in many senses of the word. It’s been easy to demonize the guy in that situation.

I doubt he’d believe me if I tell him my blowing up wasn’t just about him, so I decide to give him the story. “Darius, one of the Agents on my mission tried to force himself on one of the miners.” The redhead leans back as his eyebrows go up in understanding. He knows how much that kind of thing bothers me, though not all the reasons why. “I had to attend the situation as a medic, and it was pretty upsetting for me,” I divulge. “And when you chased me down, I’d hardly slept and I thought Katniss was mad at me. It was just bad all around.”

“Shit,” he states emphatically, his mouth quirking with sympathy. “I had no idea.”

“I threatened the dude, and he tried to threaten my job,” I continue. “Thankfully, it looks like that’s blown over.”

His eyes narrow. “Can’t you get him fired? That’s the kind of thing they discharge people for.”

“Purnia wanted to bury it. I attacked him, and I sided with a local over him, so it looked bad on me too.” Drolly twitching my eyebrows, I snark, “Probably wise. Cray’s not exactly known for standing up for the less fortunate in our community.”

Darius snorts, rolling his eyes with disdain. “No, not unless they’re kneeling.”

It takes a second for me to laugh. Not because I don’t get it, but because I’m not expecting it. But when I catch the glint in his eye, I erupt with a snort that evolves into genuine laughter. He sniggers in return, lips parting with a satisfied grin. Ducking my head, I smother my remaining chuckles in my crossed forearms.

“Oh my god,” I grin as I regain control. “I really fucking miss you sometimes, you know that?”

Darius shrugs, a wistful tinge seeping into his smile. “I couldn’t be sure.”

Fuck. And men say we’re the impossible, emotional ones. I narrow my eyes and specify, “I miss you, but I can’t be friends with you if it feels like you think you’re doing me a favor by spending time with me. Or like I’m obligated to spend time with you to make your whiny ass feel better.”

“I didn’t meant to make you feel that way, Jo,” he claims. “But you’re right, I haven’t been much of a friend to you. It’s because I haven’t been looking at you as a friend, just as another girl who screwed me over.” Dropping my shoulders, I let loose a sigh and roll my eyes to the heavens. “Hold up,” he interjects, lifting a hand as though I’m about to walk out. I’m pretty close, come to think of it. “I’m not done. Thing is, I was being a hypocrite.”

Oh. I settle back in, waiting to see where he’s going with this. “I offered to let you use me, and when that using turned out to not be exactly what I had in mind, I acted like you’d betrayed me.” He nods, holding my gaze. “That was wrong of me, and selfish, and I’m sorry.”

Well, shit. I don’t know what to say to that. It’s disarming as fuck, but I’m also surprised he took the time to think about this while I was busy hating him. “You had a right to be hurt,” I mumble.

“I did,” he nods. “And yeah, I was hurt that you lied about your feelings and intentions when it came to Katniss, and to us. But more than that, I was hurt that you wanted her more. And really, that’s why I was pissy.” His mouth twitches guiltily. “But that’s not something I had the right to be mad over, not with what our situation was.”

Whether or not I owe him an explanation, I decide he deserves one. I clear my throat and articulate, “The reason I always denied having feelings for Katniss was because I didn’t even want to admit that to myself.”

“Because of Clove?”

“Partly. But I…” Sighing, I look over the young man I was once so fond of. “I wanted to want you more, Darius. Katniss looked like a disaster waiting to happen. But you were this kind, funny guy. More age-appropriate, yeah, but more importantly, a Peacekeeper.” His only response is a blink, so I delve in further. “I know lots of us fuck locals, with varying degrees of consent. But falling in love with one is bad news.”

“Can I ask you a question?” he requests quietly. With a subtle gulp, I nod. “Were you ever really into me, or was I just a distraction from her the whole time?” I tense up, and he immediately clarifies, “I know I offered, I just… I want to understand what happened.”

“Neither,” I admit. “You were more of a distraction from my general misery than from Katniss. And I was never going to be ‘into you’ the way you wanted, with or without Katniss. It wasn’t about her, or you.” I hold his gaze definitively. “That’s just me. I’m what happened.”

Darius sighs, dragging his fingers through his auburn locks. “I know. And I’m better off now, not emotionally tied up to someone who couldn’t feel the same way. It can just be hard to see that at the time.”

“So you are over it,” I surmise.

“Are you over Clove?” he retorts rhetorically. “Like, entirely? Do you not care if she lives or dies this summer?” Giving his head a little shake, he adds, “I know that was a more serious relationship. I just mean, these things take time.”

I waffle a moment before confessing, “Well, to be honest, I’m glad you still care if I live or die. You were the first person in a long time to say that.” I swallow, gaze falling to my hands. “Even Clove, she knew chances were I’d die in there. She couldn’t afford to care.”

“But you cared if she did.” Watching me closely, he observes, “You still do.”

“Well, unlike her, I’m not a sociopath.” A snort breaks my deadpan expression. “Despite popular belief.”

“It’ll be weird,” he muses. “Watching the Games.”

“It sure will be.” I’ve missed these discussions with my old confidante. Talking to him is not so bad after all. When I can temporarily forget our baggage.

“I wish we could go back to how things were before,” Darius mumbles, as though he can hear my thoughts.

“But do you really?” He looks up but doesn’t answer. Smiling wryly, I muse, “There were some good things, too.” The boy chuckles inwardly, giving me a little nod. “We can’t go back,” I conclude, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t get along.”

Darius responds with a small but genuine smile. “I hope not.”

This seems as good a time as any, so I stand to leave. “Do you want to work out together on Wednesday?”

A cheeky grin spreads across his face. “Sure thing, Agent Beastie.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I snort. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As I’m exiting, I hear him echo the sentiment behind me. “Tomorrow.”

On the strength of this interaction, I decide to put some effort into another old relationship. At 7:50, I sink into the rolling chair in the Communications Office and unfold a small piece of loose leaf. After swiping my ID card, I carefully key in the string of digits scrawled on the crumpled paper. It takes four rings before I hear the rattle of a receiver being picked up.

“Meredith Station,” answers a female voice. Station is sort of a misnomer, it’s more like a large warehouse built on the edge of our limestone quarry. There’s no trains up there, just the large trucks that run from the mine down to the railway in the nearest valley several times a day. Clove and I hitched a lot of rides on those trucks over the years to train with some of the other candidates in larger towns. I blame those cramped rides for much of the sexual tension that sprouted between us.

“Hi,” I reply, shaking my head back to its senses, “can I speak to Joshua Mason down in Freight?”

The surprise in the woman’s voice is palpable. “I’ll see if I can track him down for you.”

In the quiet minutes that follow, a cramp slowly takes over my gut. I generally don’t miss home or my family all that much, given I was obviously an accident some six years younger than my closest sibling and was generally treated as a nuisance for my very existence. Probably because I was a nuisance, an asshole from birth. My parents did love me in their own way, but I only got the scraps of their attention until I joined the candidacy program. There were bright spots, though. Like my earliest swimming lessons in the river on warm summer Sundays, Josh showing me how to doggy paddle and Jordan tugging my legs from below to scare the shit out of me. She would roar and tickle me until I peed, calling herself the sea monster. She got the monster part right, anyway. It’s probably her fault I’ve never been that fond of the water.

“Hello?” The sound of my brother’s voice dissolves my reminiscent smirk as it inundates me with a vision of how he would typically look by the end of his shift at the loading docks. Covered in stone dust, calloused palms flushed, smelling of a hard day’s work. Not so unlike the miners here.

“Hey, big brother.”

His voice jumps an octave. “Johanna?”

“No,” I retort, “it’s Jordan. I thought I’d call you from the imaginary other phone in town.”

His familiar gravelly laugh makes me smile again. “I’ve missed you, you little smartass. How’ve you been? Mom told me you met some nice Peacekeeper boy.”

“I did, but that’s not a thing anymore,” I mutter, toeing the desk leg. “It never really was.”

“Oh, she made it sound like it was.”

“Of course she did,” I grouse, my expression suddenly sour. “I don’t know why she cares at all. It’s not like I’m having kids either way, with this job.”

“Well, she didn’t want you to enlist either,” he points out.

“Yes, because it’s so ‘dangerous.’ Funny, she didn’t mind me wanting to volunteer.”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “An Agent in Twelve is hardly a trophy kid. Especially if she comes back missing body parts.”

Josh sighs, and I can practically hear him pinching his brow. “Are you at least happy up there, kiddo? Happier, anyway?”

“Yeah. It was good to get away,” I admit. “I’ve made some friends here. I get on really well with my CO. And the boy, he’s nice. An idiot sometimes, but a sweetheart.”

“So why didn’t it work out?” inquires Josh.

Picking at my cuticles, I deliberate how much to divulge. “I wasn’t really that into him. And there was someone else.”

“Let me guess, another troublemaking girl?” A deep, throaty chuckle fills the receiver. “You pussy hound.”

I snort, more teasingly than defensively. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Not anymore,” he declares. “I’ve been made an honest man. Sabina and I got married a few weeks ago.”

“Holy shit, what?” Everybody knows everybody in our village of a few hundred people, but they’d only started dating around the time Clove dropped her bomb on me. Late in the summer. I know there’s no way I would have been able to get time off to go to the event, but I can’t help the vague sadness I feel at having missed it. “That was quick.”

“It felt right. Sometimes, you just know.”

“Yeah,” I muse with a smile. “I get that.”

“At least tell me this girl isn’t gonna sell you out?” he sighs, his tone suddenly darker. “Whenever I see that shrimp around town, I have half a mind to beat her to death with a pickaxe.”

“Please don’t, Josh.” Part of me means it. But after a beat for comedic effect, I deliver the punch line. “I’d rather see it live on television.”

We share a laugh, one that makes me realize just how much I missed his. A voice in the distance interrupts us, and he clears his throat. “Han, I gotta go. We’re closing up.”

“I know. I just wanted to call and say I miss you guys.” Blinking my prickling eyes, I add, “Tell Jordie I say hi. Mom and Dad, too.”

“Of course, Hanna.”

***

Laughter and chatter fills the air as I close in on the Everdeen residence the next day. It’s nearing 5:30, and that’s no accident. Hanging out with a bunch of tween girls isn’t my idea of a good time, but I wanted to make an appearance in time to deliver the cake.

It seems they’re in the middle of some word game when I peek in the door, the group of at least ten kids crowding around the table and shouting seemingly random words in turn. Surprisingly, not only are there a couple of boys, but it’s a mix of Seam and Town kids. I guess if anyone can pull that off, it’s Prim, between her lineage and her personality.

The first person to detect my presence is the boy standing next to Prim. His face pales as much as it can given his skin tone, his muscles going rigid. The blonde must feel his reaction, because she blinks up and catches me easing the door open. Shock overcomes her expression, and since everyone appears to be focused on her and the pad she’s writing on, I almost instantly have a pack of young faces turned my way. Their expressions range from curious to frightened. And I’m not even in my armor. I really hate these off-duty uniforms sometimes.

Lifting my free hand in a gesture of goodwill, I paste on a smile and reassure them with a jocular, “Don’t worry, I come in peace.”

“Hanna!” Prim finally calls out. With a smile, to my relief. “What are you doing here?”

I blink. “Katniss didn’t tell you I was coming?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” comes Katniss’s voice from the other side of the door. Peeking around it, I find her sitting on a bench tucked against the front wall of the house. Her mother sits in the corner beyond her, on a rocking chair to the right of the hearth. She’s paused the knitting project in her lap in favor of watching me as I round the door cautiously.

“A pleasant one, at that,” the woman chimes in, sending me a reserved smile from across the room. It’s a gesture I return as I shuffle closer to Katniss. “It’s good to see you, Johanna.” Though several of the kids remain a bit wary of my presence, they seem to trust Prim’s judgement and return to playing the game.

“This is more kids than I expected,” I mumble as I sit down beside her sister, strategically placing the box between us. Having a parent to impress, I need to be on my best behavior.

“Prim’s popular.”

Snorting, I dryly remark, “Must run in the family.”

Katniss tosses me some side eye and a fist to the shoulder. “Smartass.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Prim announces to the others. “Let me fill it in.”

I’m just returning my attention to Katniss when a loud meow startles me, stealing it back. Glancing down, I see Buttercup padding toward us. Pausing just a second, he gives me a little mewl and then hops up on my lap. He shoots Katniss a rather smug look as I instinctively begin to stroke his coat, and I can’t help but laugh. “You’d think he understands English.”

“The little moron only knows his own name and Prim’s,” she scoffs. “He just likes to rub in how much he hates me.”

“I didn’t realize you minded.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh huh.” I playfully nudge the girl with my elbow. Glancing past her, I see her mother watching us with a faint smile. Before I have a chance to respond, Prim’s clearing her throat.

The young blonde sneaks a shy glance at the boy beside her before reading out, “How to date the coolest guy in school.” Then her eyes skim down the page and she starts to read some nonsensical guidebook, frequently interrupted by disproportionately raucous laughter. “Turn the pencils. Make him angrily want to date you. Make sure you’re always dressed to smuggle.”

“So Prim’s old enough for boy-girl parties now, huh?” I say to Katniss as the story continues.

“Those are Gale’s brothers,” she tells me. “Rory’s in Prim’s year, and I think she invited Vick so he wouldn’t feel left out.”

Smirking, I continue to eye the pair. “Or so it looks less suspicious.” Katniss chuckles and nods her agreement. “What are your family’s rules for dating?”

“We don’t have any,” she says flatly. “Haven’t needed them.”

“How convenient,” I drawl, shooting her a sly wink. Moving my gaze to the party, I admit, “Sex in the woods is nothing new to me. Josh got taken out back once for having a girlfriend over when our parents were out. I never made that mistake.”

“Out back?” Katniss blinks her bewilderment.

“You know…?” But she clearly doesn’t. There’s no nice way to put it, so I don’t try. “Behind the house, beat him, took a belt to him.” Katniss’s eyes grow huge as this sinks in, her expression beyond horrified. I twitch my eyebrows. “Well, I guess I can’t see your mom being the type to do that.”

“No,” she denies zealously, “our parents never hit us.”

Blinking away, I snort, “Lucky you.” But I feel her eyes lingering on me in an unspoken question, so I roll mine and return them to her. “Lots of times. I’m a ‘brat,’ you know.”

My girlfriend’s hardened jaw twitches and her hand begins sliding across the bench toward my knee. Then she thinks better of it, pulling it back into her lap. There’s just a hint of anger in her measured tone when she remarks, “I’m starting to see more and more why you hardly speak to your parents.”

“Look who’s talking,” I scoff, turning my attention back to Prim’s disastrous dating advice.

“-before answering in a very fuzzy voice, ‘I’ll have to fight about it.’” Grinning broadly, Prim turns the page as the last of the laughter dies out. Unexpectedly, her eyes flick over and catch mine. “Johanna, you should play this time!” she suggests brightly.

Sweet kid, trying to make me feel welcome. But with the continued sketchy looks from half the kids, nothing is going to make me comfortable standing at that table. Besides, I’m enjoying my proximity to her sister. “Buttercup is too comfy,” I protest. “Can I play from here?”

Prim nods. “Give me an adjective.”

“Like one that describes you?” I puzzle, still rather confused over how this game works.

“No, any adjective.”

“Uh…” It’s a struggle to come up with any word, and the ones that do come to mind are not appropriate for a preteen’s birthday party. Actually, some are, just not from my point of view. Discreetly trailing my toe up the back of Katniss’s ankle, I submit my answer with a straight face. “Wet.”

Katniss stiffens besides me, probably in more than one sense of the word. A tiny shiver runs down her leg and she snaps a pair of peeved eyes over. “They were right about you being a brat,” she huffs under her breath, crossing her arms. Notably, she doesn’t move her leg. “You are in so much trouble next time I get you alone.”

“Mm,” I purr. “You planning on punishing me?” It’s in poor taste, given our previous topic of conversation, but I can’t help myself.

She narrows her already incendiary gaze. “Don’t get me started.”

“Oh, I’ve already gotten you started, babe.” So much for being on my best behavior. But I want to give her as much motivation as possible to show up at my window tomorrow night. For now she continues the death glares while pretending not to enjoy my touch. She’s doesn’t fool me, not for a second.

When the round draws to a close several minutes later, I try to ease Buttercup off my lap so I can stand up. He stays stubbornly put. Rolling my eyes, I stand anyway, forcing him to jump before he tumbles off, voicing a loud mewl of displeasure. Katniss snorts behind me as I pick up the box and walk to the table.

“I have a surprise,” I announce. Setting it in the middle of the table, I open the box to reveal the circular cake, twelve inches in diameter. I’m glad that Peeta talked me up from ten, because there’s more mouths than I anticipated. The frosting design features Buttercup rolling in a bed of primroses, Lady sniffing the bush they fell from. With my help, Peeta got the details correct down to Lady’s markings and Buttercup’s half an ear. Prim squeals and rushes around the table to throw her arms around me. “I’ve seen you looking at the cakes enviously a few times,” I grin, wrapping her up in return. “I had them make it just for you.” 

“Thank you, Hanna!” she exclaims. “You’re the best!”

It’s fortunate that Prim’s holding onto me, because those words throw me surprisingly off-kilter. I’m not the best because I can afford to spoil her. I’m not the best at all. I don’t spend most of my free time hunting in an effort to keep her belly full, didn’t put the better part of today aside to devote to making her happy. Suddenly, I’m feeling extremely self-conscious in the face of this innocuous comment.

“No I’m not,” I scoff. “You’re the best. Your sister’s not bad, either.” Peeking over my shoulder, I find both of her family members watching quietly, but not crossly so far as I can tell.

I’m can’t be sure of whether Katniss is saving me from the awkward moment or just being herself, but she rolls her eyes and parrots, “Not bad?” as she stands up. Pinching my side as she walks by, she announces, “I’ll get a knife.”

The kids get going once we’ve eaten the cake, which for the record is fucking amazing. There’s a small collection of gifts by the hearth, but Prim doesn’t seem intent on opening them yet. I wonder if that’s a custom here or if she just doesn’t want to embarrass the kids who couldn’t bring one. No one complains, either way. Other than me, mentally, because it makes me feel like an even bigger douchebag in comparison.

With that in mind, I decide to give her family the rest of the day. Briefly catching Katniss’s eye, I nod at the door and mouth, “I’m going.” She barely has time to crinkle her brow before I to turn to Prim, who’s just returning from seeing the last of her guests out the door. “I don’t have an actual gift to give you today,” I apologize. “But I made a deal with Greasy Sae, and there’s a nice new ribbon for Lady waiting for you next time Katniss takes you to trade your cheeses over at the Hob.”

Prim smiles brightly. I anticipate another hug, but instead she wheels to face her mother and excitedly asks, “Mom, can Hanna stay for dinner? She just got here.”

“Uh…” Even though Katniss was going to suggest the same, this just feels wrong. Before she can answer, I tell the woman, “You don’t have to feed me, Mrs. Everdeen. I have dinner waiting for me back at the barracks. But I’d love to stay for the company, if you’ll have me.”

“Nonsense,” she counters. “You’re our guest, and you were so generous to Prim. Of course we’ll feed you.”

“Thank you,” I nod, ducking my head.

“In fact,” she continues, “I think this calls for a special treat. It’s a party, is it not?” Addressing her daughters, she suggests, “How about we have dessert tonight?”

“Mom!” gasps Prim. “Can we afford that?” I’m not sure she’s the one to ask. Even with Mrs. Everdeen’s home business, I have no doubt that Katniss makes at least half the family’s money. She’s brushing up beside me, I can feel her, but she doesn’t argue. So I don’t either.

“We’ll need a little more food with one more mouth, anyway,” reasons Mrs. Everdeen, already grabbing her jacket. “Why not make it something sweet?” If that was meant to make me feel guilty, it worked. But she already insisted, so there’s not much I can do but bear it.

“Can we, Katniss?” Prim begs, blue eyes wide and hopeful.

Even Katniss can’t refuse her. Especially Katniss. Prim is and always has been her biggest weakness. “I’m not going to say no,” she answers, forcing a smile.

It’s hardly an exaggeration to say Prim jumps up and down. “Mom, can we please go to the Hob to get it? I really want to get that ribbon.”

Mrs. Everdeen pauses, eyes flicking amongst the three of us. “It’s closer than anywhere in town. I don’t see why not.” Looking to Prim, she adds, “Get your coat on, then, if you’re coming with.”

Prim is babbling happily about something as they cross the small yard, but I’m not really listening. The whole situation is doing a number on my stomach. It doesn’t help that Katniss is walking away from me, rounding the table silently to gather the dirty plates.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?”

I only drag my eyes from the door once I’ve spoken. Katniss stops what she’s doing and eyes me with what I think is supposed to be sympathy. “Prim stopped asking for birthday cakes after Dad died. We’d never been able to afford one before, and we sure couldn’t then.” Watching her drumming fingers, she speculates, “I think Mom always felt bad because she had them when she was a little girl, but she couldn’t afford them for her own kids.”

“And then I waltz in and outdo her at her own party,” I groan. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” Katniss insists. “You’re sweet. It was very considerate of you, at least as far as Prim is concerned. You made her day.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t have been me making her day.”

“Is that why you were gonna leave?” she asks. “Mom’ll get over it, don’t worry.” Extending a hand across the table, she beckons me to join her effort. “Come on, Hanna, let’s clean up.”

Katniss puts some water on to boil on their small wood-burning stove and we finish collecting the dirty dishes, then wipe down the table. She’s about halfway done sweeping the main room by the time the kettle starts whistling. Mixing it with some cold water from the tap, she gets a sinkful of soapy water at a tolerable temperature. I take over and start on the dishes while she finishes the sweep. She doesn’t bother with a dustpan, just sweeps the dirt out the door and off the porch before joining me indoors again.

All my senses buzz as footsteps close in on me from behind. My throats constricts with a swallow when I feel Katniss reaching around me, until I realize she’s grabbing the dishtowel. Silently, she plucks a plate from the dish rack and dries it off. I have to give my head a shake. The proximity is getting to me. That and how we’re once again unsupervised in her house, this time without any orders to be elsewhere. I’m harboring this sudden and strong urge to take her upstairs and ravage her on her bed, but that would be pretty disrespectful of the birthday girl seeing as it’s her bed too. Plus, who knows how soon they’ll be home? Katniss’s breathing has escalated a little, so I can’t help but assume the same thoughts are tumbling around in her brain. I don’t ask. That’s dangerous.

We continue to work silently in tandem. Once I finish, I take my time wiping down the counter, finding a use for my hands while she dries and puts away the last of the dishes. As she hangs the towel, we lock eyes for the first time since she joined me. Her intense gaze shoots electricity down through my feet, freezing me in place as she takes a tentative step closer. I gulp, eyes darting to the open door and unblocked windows that are letting in the last of the afternoon light. We’ll be eating by candlelight for sure. Whenever the others get back.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “We’re alone.” Leaning in, she brushes some hair behind my ear and gives me a soft, lingering kiss. When we break, I tug her closer and slide my arms around her middle. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in tight, and I rest my head on her shoulder, listening to her pulse in her neck. Given its strength, I wasn’t wrong about her state of mind. But we stay like that for a long time. Just touching after having to be reserved in mixed company feels like such a luxury. 

It’s me that initiates the next kiss, tilting my head up to catch her eye. We close the gap together, lips connecting gently at first. But that doesn’t last. Gasping into my mouth, Katniss turns me and presses me against the counter beside the sink. I moan in reply and circle my arms around her neck, leaning back as I pull her in. In an instant, her right hand is under my shirt and bra, exerting some kind of mind control over me via my nipple, making me kiss her harder. “I told you you’d be in trouble,” she hisses. 

A soft whimper escapes my mouth and I grip the back of her neck with my left hand, the other sliding down to rest just above her butt. “This is not what I had in mind when you said that.”

“Too bad,” she growls.

“They’ll be home soon.”

“Yes, and we’ll hear them coming. Do you see me taking your clothes off?” I shake my head dumbly, too aroused to make sense of her actions. “No,” she whispers, “you’re going to sit through dinner and go home as frustrated as I was.”

“At least I can get myself off in my own bed when I get there,” I retort. Katniss twists my nipple in a flash, making me yelp into her mouth.

“Fuck you.” I guess that’s the best comeback she can think of, because she snarls down my throat and goes back to kissing me hard. I’m on the verge of losing self-control, nails scraping the flesh just above her belt. If she tried, I’d let her boost me up and fuck me right here on this counter. I have half a mind to start it myself. Whining, I try to wrap a leg around her but she’s got me pinned in too tight.

Our grunts and ragged breaths are pretty loud when in tight like we are, but they don’t block out the sound of a throat clearing behind Katniss. We whip our heads to the door instantly and see her mother and sister standing there, one displeased and one amused. We’ll hear them coming, sure Katniss. Fucking idiot. Now we’re fucked. They probably couldn’t see where her hand was just a second ago, but they surely saw mine trailing under the hem of her shirt. It could have been a lot worse, but I’m still flushed with embarrassment. Not that I wasn’t a bit flushed already.

Prim’s smile falls a little as she surveys the room, then she gets her grin back for a split second before wolf whistling like the little shit she is. Older siblings suck, but we’re arguably worse. It might have been an attempt to break the tension in the room, but if so, it backfires. Glaring down at her, her mom pushes her back half a step and then turns her sights on us just as Katniss fully turns around.

“Johanna, I think it’s time you went home,” she says evenly.

“No,” Katniss outright refuses, shielding half of me with her body. “She’s staying here.”

Squirming under her mother’s evil eye, I appeal, “Katniss, maybe-”

“No,” she snaps, “forget it.” Standing her ground, she turns her icy gaze back to her mom. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

Frustration flares up in her already irked blue eyes, but Mrs. Everdeen’s tone is eerily calm as she lays down the law. “Katniss, go upstairs.”

Her daughter stiffens and scoffs with disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Go to the bedroom,” she repeats.

“Oh, _now_ you’re trying to mother me?” the girl sneers, prowling forward. “You’re a little late for that, _Paula_.”

“Katniss, stop it!” Suddenly fuming, I stamp up beside the taller girl as she turns her venomous gaze on me. “You know, maybe she’d still be your mother if you’d fucking let her.” Three pairs of eyes go wide, and I realize my slip up. Shit. Lifting my hands in surrender, I grumble, “It’s fine, I’m leaving.”

“You’re not serious,” a scandalized Katniss responds. I just nod curtly and pass between them, making for the door before I can dig myself a bigger hole with any of them. Peeking over my shoulder in hopes of giving Katniss an apologetic look, I instead find her eyes are boring into her mother.

“Don’t follow me,” she seethes. I have never heard Katniss use a tone so dark, yet so quiet. It’s terrifying, actually, because I know all too well the anger that's boiling under the surface. Her glare settles on me for a split second and I realize that that order was meant for me too, sending my already turbulent stomach flopping about.

I gulp as she storms through the room beyond the staircase and out the back door, shudder when it slams so hard it shakes the house. “I’m sorry, Prim,” I say after a few painful seconds. She turns and catches my eye. “I didn’t mean to ruin your-”

“You didn’t.” The young blonde steps closer and wraps her arms around me, a gesture I return hesitantly this time. “Thanks for the cake.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. Thanks for having me.” Over her shoulder, I make fleeting eye contact with Mrs. Everdeen. She’s watching us, expression unreadable. I force a dry swallow and a nod before releasing Prim and retreating out the door.

Impress the parent, check. Well fucking done, Mason.

***

By morning, after tossing and turning for much of the night, I’ve come up with what I hope might constitute an olive branch. Absconding with a few small food storage containers from the communal kitchen, I spend several hours rooting around in the forest west of the Seam, retracing my steps in a hunt for the herb patches I’ve visited once or twice with Katniss. The knowledge she dumped on me the night of our first sleepover proves helpful in finding and identifying some, though I certainly don’t remember everything.

I’ve filled the containers by 10:30 or so, ending my excuse to procrastinate. I should get on with it, anyway. Katniss probably doesn’t feel like making her mother soup over her lunchtime today, but I’m more comfortable having this visit when I know she’ll be stuck in class. It’s hard enough for me to have an adult conversation with an authority figure even without the possibility of a disruption.

Clearing the expansive meadow just inside the fence, I pass a few gates and turn into the Everdeens’ yard. I knock the instant I reach the door to avoid any chickenshit nonsense and also portray some sense of confidence. My training in the art of body language proves useful when I hear a chair scrape the floor, and I square my shoulders despite the dread weighing them down. Show no fear.

The door swings inward, revealing the tired-looking woman. Her eyebrows arch at the sight of me.

“Hi, Mrs. Everdeen.” I extend my stack of parcels, taking the lid off the top one to display its contents. “Consider this a peace offering?”

The blonde slowly bobs her head and steps aside. “Come in, Johanna.” I shuffle inside, keeping a wary eye on her as she places the containers on her countertop. “Would you like some tea?”

“So long as it's not poisoned.” She catches my eye over her shoulder, her expression humorless. Shifting a little despite my best efforts, I clear my throat. “Did Katniss make it home last night?”

“Of course,” she confirms, waving me off. “She wouldn’t miss her sister’s birthday dinner over a temper tantrum. She needed a little time to cool off.” As I continue to stand there uncomfortably, she asks, “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to apologize for the incident last night, for disrupting your celebrations,” I say, willing myself not to blush. “That was really inappropriate.”

“Well, it can be difficult to suppress your feelings when you’re young and in love,” she acknowledges, making my eyebrows shoot up. “Though I would have preferred my twelve year-old daughter not see her sister, whom she respects very much, getting handsy with a Peacekeeper.”

My eyes drop shamefully. “This isn’t what it looks like, Mrs. Everdeen.” I make sure to meet her gaze again before declaring, “I know about Cray, what he does and some of the others do, and it disgusts me. I swear, I have only the best intentions for your daughter.”

“I don’t doubt it. From everything I’ve seen, you seem like an upstanding young woman, Johanna.” She nods at the chair beside me as she moves aside a bowl of some salve she’s mixing. “Have a seat.” Once we’re awkwardly faced off across the table, she jumps right in. “Am I right to assume it’s you she’s been staying with several nights a week, coming home fed and bathed and glowing?” At my gulp and hesitant nod, she chuckles inwardly. “And here I thought she’d taken up with her friend Madge or some other Townie girl, followed in her father’s footsteps.”

My eyebrows fly up. Despite the general open-mindedness I’ve encountered in both districts, I’m not used to that being the assumption. “Ma’am?”

“Well, she’s never seemed very interested in boys,” the blonde smirks. A relieved snort pushes its way out of my lungs. “Despite the mystery of it all worrying me,” she continues, “it has been a welcome change to see Katniss so happy.”

I nod my agreement. “We make each other happy.”

“I can see that, very clearly. It’s also apparent that the two of you have gotten quite serious. From the marks on her body, not to mention the way she looks at you.” My eyes dart away before she even finishes that sentence, landing on my fidgeting thumbs. So much for close calls. “It’s not just some fling to either of you.” 

“Definitely not,” I concur, but I still can’t look her in the eye.

“That’s the problem.”

My head snaps up in surprise before I’m reminded of the obvious. “Because of my job.” 

“Partially.” Her gaze goes distant as she chuckles wryly. “The irony doesn’t escape me. I never thought I’d be on the other side of this scenario.” After a moment, she returns her attention to my questioning face. “My parents were opposed, to say the least, to my relationship with Leander. They said it couldn’t last, and they said I’d be throwing my life away if it somehow did.”

“But they were wrong, on both counts,” I point out.

“Yes, they certainly were. If they were still alive, they might argue, saying that if I had married a baker instead of a miner, my husband would still be alive.” She shakes her head, sweeping her eyes across the dilapidated house. “But I have two wonderful children to show for it, and I don’t regret it. Social class is not the strict divider they saw it as.”

“Then maybe this isn’t, either,” I contend gently.

The older woman lifts an eyebrow. “‘Marrying down,’ as my parents called it, involved some sacrifices. It was difficult, but it was always possible. We were from different parts of the district, but the same district nonetheless.” Her eyes turn piercing as she gets to the point. “You are a citizen of District Two. Maybe one day you will retire, and be free to form a family if you so choose. But do you get to choose where you settle?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am,” I admit. “Peacekeepers aren’t allowed to travel the districts freely anymore after they retire, but I’ve never heard of someone trying to move altogether. All I know for sure is they have an easier time relocating within Two than your average citizen.” I know that because my father liked to harp on about how he _chose_ to come back home after his accident instead of moving to the city, because of the importance of family. Funny, given his main contribution to the family he proceeded to create was living off his prorated pension and barking orders like the officer he never got to be while his wife worked down in the quarry. And people wonder why I have problems with authority.

As for settling in other districts, in all honesty, the reason I haven’t asked is because I’m afraid of the answer. And the reaction of whoever I choose to ask. My father would have a shit fit. Purnia and Cray are both out of the question because they’d know why I’m asking. “I can look into it,” I say.

“Well, if not, you would need to continue your service indefinitely to stay with Katniss, if by some miracle the stress of hiding a relationship for twenty years had not caught up to you by then. And you would have to keep hiding it.” I know all these things, but hearing them aloud makes me squirm in my seat. “Do you want to have to keep your relationship under wraps forever? Sneaking in and out of the barracks, withholding affection in public, always fearing detection?”

Those questions are clearly rhetorical, so I don’t bother answering. “I don’t want that for my child,” she concludes. “I know that in this world, there is great temptation to live for the present, but you have to consider the pain your choices now can cause in the future.” Her mouth twitches grimly. “There’s no future for you two.”

Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter. “Mrs. Everdeen, this is not the first supposedly doomed relationship I’ve been in. I’m used to the uncertainty.”

Her head cocks the slightest bit. “How did your previous ones work out for you?”

My gaze averts itself sheepishly. That wasn’t the best logic ever. “Betrayal,” I admit. My eyes flick up. “Heartbreak.”

Mrs. Everdeen nods. “I believe that hurting Katniss is the last thing you want to do. I also believe that it’s inevitable.” Her shoulders shrug and then droop. “I don’t see any way that this can last. Do you?”

Choosing to take this literally, I wrack my brain for a solution. It comes within seconds. “I make Head Peacekeeper. I stay here indefinitely, in my own house. No sneaking around, no bosses to watch out for.”

“Ambitious,” she remarks dryly.

“A girl can dream.”

Her neutral expression fractures the slightest bit, with a hint of a smile that looks oddly affectionate. “You’re not going to heed my warnings, are you?”

“Believe it or not, all these things have crossed my mind before. I resisted my attraction to Katniss for a long time because it all seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.” Holding her gaze, I pause for effect. “It is a disaster, in a sense. It’s hard. But I don’t regret any of it either. And I don’t think I ever will.” When she merely blinks, I resort to begging. “Please, don’t stand in the way of a good thing.”

“I thought you were more practical than this, Johanna,” she says, with obvious disappointment. She sighs, seemingly gathering her thoughts. “I can’t give my blessing. But I also can’t, and won’t, stop Katniss from seeing you. She is correct that she has earned her right to be treated as an adult, though some of her decisions and behaviors suggest she may not be ready for that.” A subtle eye roll accompanies that last sentence. “In any case, I’ve long lost my right to tell her what to do, and I accept that.” Her focus lands keenly on me. “I just hope you’re able to take care of her in a way that I wasn’t.”

“Katniss doesn’t need taking care of,” I object in her defense.

“On the contrary. Katniss is very independent in terms of her physical needs, but she is in dire need of some emotional nurturing.”

“To say the least,” I snort.

The blonde throws me a warning look that wipes the smirk right off my face. “That imbalance has always existed due to her personality, but the responsibilities and lack of support she was left with after the explosion only made it worse. She was always closer to her father, but I was unavailable too, after he died.” Her weary blue eyes fall to the table. “I try my best to make up for it now, but she won’t let me. She’s too angry.” The woman chuckles sadly. “Some wounds, even I can’t heal.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I reply automatically. But when she eyes me doubtfully, I realize I mean it. “I understand… what that feels like. I’ve been in the deep, too. It’s not easily escaped.”

Her expression scrutinous, Mrs. Everdeen observes me in silence for a moment. “That’s why you defended me.”

“Yes,” I nod solemnly. “Katniss hasn’t had a lover before. She doesn’t understand how it feels to lose that person.”

“Precisely,” she responds emphatically, and I duck my head, realizing what I just walked into. “I know it’s uncommon around here, but you can be transferred without your consent, Agent. You’re at the mercy of the government, same as the rest of us.”

“I know.”

“And Peacekeepers do sometimes die in the line of duty, even in Twelve.”

“I know,” I repeat firmly, catching her eye again.

“You know everything, don’t you?” she retorts, eyebrows arched in amusement. “Typical teenager.” I don’t answer, and that levity fades. “Please tell me you _are_ a teenager.”

“I’m eighteen, Mrs. Everdeen,” I respond coldly. “Plenty young enough for your daughter.”

“Yes, as you’ve proven with this conversation.”

Tearing my fingers through my hair, I expel a frustrated sigh. “Are we done here?”

“You’re the one who came to talk to me,” she reminds me. “I’ve said my piece. Have you said yours?”

I guess I have, even if it felt like I was saying it to a brick wall. Getting to my feet, I give her as confident a smile as I can. “You’ll come to like me, in time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I already like you,” she assures me, making my eyes widen. “That’s not the point.”

My eyebrows knit. “So is it okay if I come back here again, or are you going to kick me out?”

“Not if you can conduct yourself appropriately while under my roof in the future,” she responds pointedly.

A little smirk crawls onto my face. “I think I can handle that.”

The blonde nods with a tiny smile of her own. “Then I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Agent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P, as always, for all her help with this chapter.
> 
> Next chapter is what you've all been waiting for: the Reaping/the start of the canon-adjacent storyline. Setup's all complete. But LB 20 will probably come first.


	15. The Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter everyone's been requesting is finally here. Not that it took long to write, with all the feels involved. As I said in the story notes and as anyone who has read Lifeblood knows, I utilize a mix of book and movie canon, leaning to movie for any major visuals. There is a big mishmash of the two in this chapter, along with large blocks of original content. No copyright infringement intended for passages straight lifted, of course, just sticking to the story as I do.

Latching onto Katniss’s hips, I flutter my tongue and gasp in a precious breath before closing my lips to resume sucking the life out of her folds. Fingernails digging into her ass with effort, I’m almost drowning in her juices as her hips gyrate over my face. If I did drown, it would be the most pleasant death imaginable. But I’m not in this compromised position just for my own arousal. Katniss needs this. This power, this release. Tomorrow is all about vulnerability and stress. Tonight, I want to make her forget, if only for a few blissful seconds.

One hand squeezing the headboard and one ripping the follicles from my scalp, Katniss lets out a cry that stutters with her hips as her crotch spasms and spills on my chin. We’ve long stopped worrying about being too loud. Darius has been acting surprisingly indifferent about it, while Athena figured out my sexual partner’s identity weeks ago and basically washed her hands of it, claiming she knew nothing. I’m more of a talker than a screamer anyway, but my usually taciturn girlfriend can be uncharacteristically vocal in the sack, especially when she takes charge.

When the girl’s quaking wanes to residual shudders, I slow my pace and release a satisfied groan at the taste of her, the source of which is still leaking into my mouth. I’m busy cleaning it up when my eyes flutter open and abruptly narrow at the sight of her face. It’s tight and etched with creases, fear still burning behind the passion in her eyes. I roll mine and push on her stomach, forcing her to shuffle backward and allow me the space to sit up with her in my lap.

“Fucking relax, baby,” I whisper hotly in her ear, gripping the back of her neck.

“Hanna-” Her rebuttal is cut short by my fingers diving into the pool of arousal and feverishly attacking her clit. A high gasp forces its way out and she claws at my back, only encouraging me with the pain.

“Shut up,” I hiss. “You’re going to come again, and you’re going to relax. Is that clear?” Katniss whimpers and starts rocking her hips, but doesn’t answer. Pulling down on her neck, I growl against her lips, “That’s an order.”

Katniss gasps again, but this one morphs into a moan and she nods furiously, her hips now fighting to keep pace with my hand. It’s all of ten more seconds before her head and eyes turn upward and she bucks against me with a yelp of surprise. A few squeaks later, she’s groaning and slumping forward against me. Slowly I lie back, my one hand drawing her out while the other sweeps strands of hair from her dazed face. Finally.

I remove my hand and settle it on the small of Katniss’s back as she nestles her head in my chest. Tiny strokes of my fingers over her hot skin make her burrow deeper and stretch out like a cat, humming contentedly. We spend a few lazy, sensual minutes wrapped up in each other before I start to feel the tension returning to her cheeks. Rubbing her back soothingly, I tease her, “Hey, I can feel your worry lines coming back.”

Katniss snorts and opens her eyes. “Sorry,” she drawls, beyond sarcastic. She’s entitled to it. We both know she has a lot to worry about.

“You’re safe here.” I circle my arms around her protectively. “You’re safe _here_.” Her eyes flicker but she says nothing. Smoothing my hands over her back, I offer, “Stay with me tonight.”

“I’d love that,” she replies stoically, pushing up on her elbows. “But I can’t.” So she’s back to herself, already. I wish I could just turn her brain off and let her be a teenager for a while, free of all these burdens.

“Why not?” I dig.

“It’s the night before Prim’s first reaping. I need to be there for her.”

Cocking my head, I press, “And who’s gonna be there for you?”

“I will,” she declares, eyes suddenly narrowed. “I don’t need anyone but myself. I was doing just fine until you came along, you know.” Her head dips so our lips are almost touching when she demands, “Don’t underestimate me.”

An affectionate grin splits my lips as I cup her cheek. “Never.”

My smile is mirrored on her face for a second before it drops again and she shifts to get out of bed. I pout and get a loose grip on her hand to discourage her. Not because I need the favor returned - there was plenty of that earlier - but because I’m loathe to lose contact. Because I don’t want her to leave. Ever. Not that I’d resort to begging. Katniss can know just how much I love her, but not how much I’ve come to need her. It’s embarrassing and disconcerting.

After giving my hand a tiny squeeze, she shakes free of it and starts collecting her garments strewn around the room. My brow furrows. “Please tell me you’re at least going to shower first.”

“Johanna, it’s not like my mother doesn’t know we’re having sex,” she snorts. I refrain from commenting on the slight blush tinting her olive skin pink. “It’s pretty obvious. The sleepovers? The bruises? No use hiding the evidence.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “Does Prim know?”

“Yeah, she’s not stupid,” chuckles Katniss as she secures her bra and turns it to slip her arms through.

“Does she tease you about it?” God, those were the days. Corny and Jordan, sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G.

“Not really,” she shrugs, continuing to dress. “But one time she tried to ask me how it works with two girls and I left her in my dust. I was mortified.” She hardens her gaze as I enjoy a laugh at her expense. 

"How hard can it be? Just tell her, 'You know how when you touch yourself down there, it feels nice? That, but someone else does it for you.'"

Katniss balks, her expression downright scandalized. “Prim doesn’t touch herself like that.”

Tipping my head, I grin ear to ear. “You wanna bet?” I get way too much pleasure out of irritating this girl.

“She’s twelve!”

“Yeah, exactly, she’s twelve,” I stress. “And she has an obvious boner for mini Stormy.”

Her face puckers. “Gross, don’t even.”

“Don’t even what? Remind you that your little sister is a human being?” That comes out sassier than intended. “The fact that she even asked shows she’s curious about these things. And that’s normal, you know.”

“Then I guess I’m just not normal,” Katniss mutters, looking down at her belt that conveniently needs buckling. “I was never interested in anything like that until I started getting to know you.” Her cheeks flare up. “I’d barely even know what to tell her. It’s still new to me, all of this.”

With a grin and a casual shrug, I offer, “I can explain how it works, if you want. Two girls.” I’m only sort of kidding.

Her eyes go wide with alarm. “Please don’t.”

“Okay,” I draw out, eyebrows arching.

She sinks onto the bed and puts all her attention into lacing her boots, face still burning. My gut twinges with guilt and I crawl over, circle my arms around her shoulders from behind. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” She tosses me a doubtful glance and I admit, “Not really.”

“It’s not difficult,” she mumbles, then clears her throat. “Not with some things.”

I grin affectionately into the side of her neck. “You’re still a prude at heart.”

Her eyebrows peak as her head turns. “At heart?”

“Prudes don't usually ride my face and call me a nasty little slut,” I deadpan, my straight face on the verge of cracking.

Katniss flushes impossibly redder. “You told me to say that!” she protests.

“You liked it.”

“Untrue,” she huffs.

“You literally got off on it.”

Whipping around, she tackles me to the bed. “Shut up,” she hisses, her voice husky as all fuck. That and her warning tone let loose a flood between my legs.

It’s a struggle to keep my voice steady and sassy, not betraying my sudden need. “Make me.”

She can tell anyway, I know from her sadistic grin. Breathing hot air on my cheek, she brushes her lips across to my ear as she trails a hand from my collarbone down through my cleavage. “No time,” she whispers, nails scraping my belly. I must be wearing the most petulant glare imaginable, because she laughs aloud and plants a firm kiss on my lips before standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.”

Right, that. Apparently even in Twelve, many families have a celebration meal of sorts after the reaping. Only celebrating being spared another year, though, not the event itself like they do back home. I’m invited, as we’ve had a few successful family dinners in the five weeks since the disaster at Prim’s party. Katniss even kissed me goodbye in front of her mom last time and it didn’t seem to be a problem. Not that it was the kind of kiss they walked in on before.

My scowl goes nowhere. “Fine.”

Neither does her smirk. “You’re so cute when you’re frustrated.”

Sitting up threateningly slowly, I warn her, “You have ten seconds to get out that window before I rip your clothes off again and make you _my_ little slut this time.”

Backing up to the window, she’s still wearing that shit-eating grin. “I already am.” My mouth falls open, making her eyes sparkle deviously. “‘Til tomorrow, Agent,” she mock salutes me. Then she’s gone before I have the chance to gather my wits and craft a witty comeback. Moving to the window, I watch as she swaggers toward the fence with the confidence I’ve given her. Despite my indignation, I can’t help but smile.

That girl.

***

A sudden noise jerks me into consciousness later that night. My heart in my throat, I flip over and search the darkness for the threat. All I see is the clock that reads 2:37. A knock sounds from my window, louder this time, and the pieces come together. Dragging my groggy ass out of bed, I blink the sleep from my eyes, mentally cursing Katniss. I’m pushing the window open and looking down into her anxious eyes before I remember. This is the day of the reaping.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, consciously softening my expression.

“I had a nightmare,” she admits. Her hands push deep and clench inside her pockets. “Woke up Prim, too. She said I should come be with you.”

“Thought she needed you,” is my surprised response.

“Well, apparently not,” scowls Katniss. “She crawled in with Mom instead.”

I can’t help my amused snicker. “It’s tough being the daddy, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Hanna,” she barks. “Can I come in or not?”

“Of course,” I smirk, extending my arms. “I offered, didn’t I?”

Once I’ve helped the taller girl through the window, I pick through my drawers for something for her to wear. She shakes her braid loose from her cap, shrugs off her jacket and lays them both on my chair, then takes the sleeping shorts and t-shirt I offer her with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

Her words and demeanor have lost their edge. I don’t comment on it right away, merely crawl into bed after her and wrap her up from behind. But as she lies there stiffly, clutching my hand hard enough to force the blood from it, I start to get a little more concerned. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about it?”

“Your tall friend slit Gale’s throat and drowned me in his blood,” she tells me bluntly.

“Oh,” I mumble, squeezing her forearm. “Shit.” But for some reason, I feel the need to defend my old frenemy. “It’s okay, it was only a dream. I know because that isn’t Scar’s style. It was always quick and dirty.” My nails graze back and forth over the gooseflesh on her exposed skin. “She took no pleasure in killing.”

“So then what's her story?” Katniss’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Selfless friend, devoted daughter, willing to slash a few jugulars to score a fortune?”

“You wouldn’t care,” I sneer. I’m on the verge of telling her to shut the fuck up about Scarlett, but bite my tongue because I know why she’s being all testy about it. Things will be better once the Games are over. Sighing against the back of her neck, I tighten all my limbs around her. “Just try to get some sleep, kid.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbles. But she’s out like a light within minutes, now cocooned in my warmth and comfort, and it’s my brain that refuses to turn off. When I eventually fall into a restless slumber, I’m haunted by visions of Clove lodging a knife in the back of Katniss’s skull.

The next noise that wakes me is a train whistle, and I rouse just as grouchy as I did several hours before. Growling inwardly, I nuzzle into the back of Katniss’s shoulder in search of more sleep. I already know it will be fruitless, because the girl in my grasp is stirring as well. Goddamn trains. I’ve grown to loathe them because of the station’s proximity to the barracks. Early morning trains aren’t rare around here, but to be fair they usually come after I’ve woken up anyway. Today is only different because I start two hours later, as does most of the morning crew, to maximize coverage during the reaping.

Katniss turns in my arms to settle on her back. “Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey yourself.” Studying her face, I graze my fingers over her jawline. “You gonna stay for a bit?”

“A bit. I’m meeting Gale to hunt.” Her eyes flit away, clouding over. “Day off, so.” She seems lost in thought, gnawing on her cheek, so I wait for her to speak again. Eventually, she returns her eyes to mine. “Can I ask you something?”

I settle my hand on her stomach and hold her gaze intently. “Anything.”

Despite my sincerity, it’s a moment longer before she inquires, “Why did you want to volunteer?”

Eyes narrowing, I cock my head and scoff, “You actually care?”

No doubt expecting that reaction, Katniss doesn’t fire back. “You’re just… not what I’d expect,” she admits evenly. Right, she’d expect me to be some kind of soulless, blood-soaked monster. Like my tall friend. Then again, what else would she expect, coming from Twelve? That’s all they see of District Two here.

I consciously release the tension in my muscles with a slow breath, gathering my thoughts. “I just wanted to be somebody,” I sigh. Her questioning look bids me continue. “We don’t exactly live glamorous lives in Two. We have enough to get by, but we live in the shadow of the Capitol. It’s like they rub it in our faces on purpose.”

“They rub it in everyone’s faces,” she remarks blankly.

“It feels more direct, I guess?” I muse. “It’s like, ‘All this could be yours, if you were just a little better, a little stronger, a little more loyal.’” This doesn’t seem to have any impact, which I suppose is fair enough. It must seem like a pretty good problem to have, one she’d trade me for any day. So I move on to an insecurity I hope is more relatable.

“My family didn’t take me seriously,” I tell her, “no one did. I was tiny and mouthy, but I could be as loud as a thunderstorm and no one would listen.” Nibbling my lip, I pick at a loose thread in my sheets. “I’m from a poorer family in a shitty little mining town and the only usual ways out are to work in Central Defense or enlist. Military stuff. I didn’t want to do either.”

“Yet here you are,” deadpans Katniss. Despite her efforts to the contrary, her lips turn up a little.

“Yeah,” I smile in return. “Here I am.”

Trailing her fingers over my cheek, Katniss smirks, “Can’t believe you ever signed up for a job where people tell you what to do.” I chuckle faintly and her smile grows. With a shrug, she admits, “I can see why Peacekeeping wouldn’t be your first option.”`

“Yeah, I got enough orders at home,” I scoff. Pausing a second, I waffle over whether or not to divulge any more. My words are slow and deliberate when I do. “My dad was a Peacekeeper.”

“What?” Katniss rolls onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “I thought you said you couldn’t have kids.”

“Not during our service,” I specify. “Some vets have kids in their forties. But my dad was honorably discharged five years in. Went home, married his high school sweetheart who’d never quite moved on, and got on that right away. Josh popped out less than a year later.”

“What happened to him?” she inquires, sliding her left hand up to rest on my hip. She gives her head a little shake. “I mean, why was he discharged? Was he injured or something?”

I nod, swallowing dryly. “He was a mechanic as well as a shooter, lost most of his middle finger in some repair job gone wrong. Impaired his ability to handle a gun.” An ironic smile quirks my lips. “Unfortunately, not his ability to handle a belt.” I wave off the concern washing over her face as her grip on me tightens. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. They don’t allow anyone with physical deformities to enlist, and they discharge you if you get any during your service, which is total bullshit. You get how ever much of your pension you’ve earned and a bit of severance pay, but it’s hard to find work even if you’re missing a finger, let alone a limb.”

“And I thought amputees didn’t faze you because of mining accidents,” she recalls.

“Oh, there’s some of those too,” I agree. “Mining’s more dangerous than Peacekeeping. Thankfully my mom never lost anything.” Rethinking that, I snort, “Except for her brother.” Katniss doesn’t say anything, but the slight arch of her eyebrows tells me that my cavalier attitude toward my family has caught her off guard once again. It might not if she knew the whole story. Shrugging this off, I add, “It helped her convince Josh to switch to working the loading docks. A little less money, but safer.” I raise my eyebrows pointedly. “You can see my options were a bit limited.”

“Yeah,” she ponders, eyes on the wall behind me.

“It’s different there, you know,” I remind her. “Victors are treated like celebrities. Representing the district is an honor, especially if you volunteer.” My eyes fall to the mattress. “My parents were really proud of me when I joined the program.”

“They should have been proud of you to begin with,” she states flatly.

“I didn’t give them much reason to be, to be fair. I was sort of a useless asshole.”

Katniss’s lips slowly draw back into a toothy grin. “Was?”

I should have expected that. Set it up too well for her to resist. Still, I roll my eyes and punch her in the arm. “Dick. I may be useless, but at least I’m not brainless.”

“You’re not useless,” she assures me. Her smile growing wider, she slowly rolls over, forcing me onto my back. “In fact,” she purrs, sliding a hand up under my shirt, “I find you useful for a wide variety of things.”

Her hand has just closed around my breast and her lips are inches from mine when the distant rumble of engines catches my ear. I snap upright, my eyes going wide as the volume grows.

“Shit!” I curse, hopping out of bed, Cray’s warning from when he suspended me echoing in my ears. We can’t have any trouble on Reaping Day, not with any cameras or reinforcements around. The consequences could be dire.

“This place is about to be flooded with Peacekeepers,” I explain to my puzzled girlfriend. “The kind who would shoot you on sight.”

Katniss needs no more motivation. She is already on her feet, shucking her sleeping clothes and throwing on the ones she wore here. I assist her in the hasty effort, gathering more of the discarded articles for her while trying not to panic. No one will be invading any of our rooms as far as I know, but the clearing she has to cross to reach the fence is visible from the Commune if someone’s looking out the wrong window. Plus it’s a sunny morning, so it’s probable that some imports will want to wait for instructions outside.

The hunter’s barely had time to jam her feet in her boots before heavy footsteps start echoing down the hallway from the common area. Face blanching, she abandons her half-finished lacing job and darts to the window. I push it open for her and help her clamber onto the sill. Halfway out the window she turns back long enough to plant an urgent kiss on my lips, wild eyes saying everything she can’t. Then she promptly drops to the ground and sprints away on those legendary legs, leaving me staring after her dizzily. I watch hawk-eyed until she’s maneuvered through the fence and disappeared into the forest.

Fingers tracing my lips, I turn back into my room and heave a sigh of relief. My eyes immediately lock on Katniss’s forgotten hunting jacket draped over my chair and narrow with concern. It’s still early; she might get cold on her hunt this morning. Oh well, tall dark and brooding will no doubt be more than willing to share his body heat. I snort to myself, fingering the leather exterior. She’ll be fine. I’ll return it to her tonight.

***

I’m in serious danger of contracting claustrophobia today. I already knew I wasn’t going to enjoy reaping day, for a whole host of reasons, but fuck this shit.

Fifty-six additional Peacekeepers were imported from the Capitol for the event. In larger districts, they just bring in extra bodies from outposts outside of the main towns, but here that’s obviously not possible. They’ll be on the same train out again maybe an hour or two after the tribute train departs. In the meantime, they made me feel like a fucking sardine in the briefing room and the truck to the Square.

Other, luckier Peacekeepers were given patrol assignments elsewhere in the district, making our presence felt well in advance, while those of us in the Square assisted with setup for the event. Hanging banners, erecting scaffolding and lugging gear for the camera crews. Though I obviously have nothing against lifting shit, I couldn’t help but find it a bit demeaning being relegated to grunt work. It probably wouldn’t have bothered me any other day, but I was already in bitch mode, fighting off this sense of malaise because a part of me still wishes I was going to be in the pen in Two today. That’s where I was supposed to be. This was the day I was looking forward to for half my life. It makes being a faceless person in white even more unbearable today than it was at the Victory Tour. I may be over Clove, but not what she took from me. That only makes me feel more guilty about the whole thing, because being here should have changed my perspective. And it has, just not enough to fully undo eight years of emotional investment.

When setup is completed shortly after twelve o’clock, all but a handful of us are sent out into the Seam or the adjacent streets of the town to beef up our presence and start to corral the citizens to the Square once the summoning whistle sounds. Again, I’m one of the unlucky ones who are relegated to babysitting the Square. Actually, I think it might be more that Purnia’s babysitting me, either because she deemed it necessary or because Cray ordered her to. Much of the afternoon shift started at noon, giving us over a hundred Peacekeepers on duty. What are the odds I’d get stuck here with her?

When I pull her aside and confront her about it, she doesn’t skirt around the subject. “You behaved out of order at the last televised event, Agent,” she reminds me. “For your own good, it’s best that you stay somewhere where I can keep an eye on you.”

Folding my arms, I scowl, “Did Cray put you up to this?”

“No,” scoffs Purnia. “Cray doesn’t give a shit about you, Johanna. I do.” Her eyes and voice turn earnest. “I don’t want you getting in any more trouble.”

My eyes narrow dangerously as I cross my arms. “This isn’t just about the Victory Tour, is it?”

“Of course not. Telling you not to do anything stupid is never enough, especially where that girl is concerned.” I open my mouth to protest, but she puts a finger to my lips before I can say a word. “That’s final,” she declares. My harsh glower and pursed lips do nothing to sway her. She dismisses me with a decisive, “Don’t go wandering off.”

Steaming under my helmet, I turn on my heel and stamp away. Like I need to be fucking supervised. What does she think I’m going to do, anyway? Abscond into the forest with the Everdeens? Yeah fucking right. Tamper with the reaping ball? It’s under heavy guard. Volunteer for my girlfriend? Even if I weren’t a Peacekeeper, I’m not a citizen of District Twelve. There’s nothing I can actually do to disrupt the proceedings.

It’s not until the summoning whistle has been blown at 1 PM and potential tributes are filing in that I realize her concern may be well founded after all. My personal investment in this reaping becomes clear to me the moment I spot Katniss in the crowd. Well, the moment I recognize her, I should say, because it takes a few seconds. I’ve never seen her in a dress before, nor with her hair in an updo. It’s strange but oddly attractive. Not that that’s the first thing on my mind. What pulls my heartstrings is the blend of concern and stoicism in her face and then, more poignantly, the panic in Prim’s as I get my first unobstructed glance at her. She stops dead in her tracks, mouth dropping open with a gasp as she lays eyes on the sign-in table.

I find myself moving closer as I watch Katniss bend down to reassure her sister. I’m much too far away to hear her words, but whatever they are they don’t seem to be having much effect. I wish I could help, but I know I can’t. I can’t act out of order again, Cray made that very clear.

After a moment, Katniss stands and the two of them separate, each joining a line leading to one of three Peacekeepers taking blood samples to verify identities. Purnia is flanked by a couple of other women, and they’re working fast, efficiently pumping the kids through and into the reaping pen. It’s only a couple minutes before Prim reaches the front of her line and freezes up again. 

“Next,” Purnia orders the blonde, beckoning her forward. “Next.” My CO’s lips tighten with impatience as Prim hangs back warily. In that instant, it occurs to me that I can help after all, without breaking rank or breaking my role. 

“Quit holding up the line, kid,” I growl, stepping around the table to take her roughly by the arm. “Let’s move it.” Prim catches my eye, looking as confused as she does scared. I throw her a subtle wink to reassure her as I add a hand to her lower back, guiding her forward. “Don’t tell me you’re scared,” I tease her under my breath as I drag her to the edge of the table. “I thought Katniss was the one afraid of human blood.”

That at least makes the girl snort, though her expression gets no less begrudging. Purnia’s close enough to hear my words, but barely acknowledges my presence, instead grabbing Prim’s wrist as she readies the needle. I keep my hand on the kid’s back the whole time. 

“Hey Prim,” I whisper, “how many Peacekeepers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Both of them blink my way in surprise this time, though Purnia almost immediately grasps my intention and looks back to Prim’s hand. As Prim flinches at the needle prick, eyes still on me, I deliver the punchline. “Two. The hard part is getting them in there first.” A second of squinting later, her eyes light up and she chuckles. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Go ahead,” instructs Purnia as the DNA scanner logs Prim’s identity and notes her attendance. The blonde exits the line before she draws any more of my boss’s ire, though I don’t get away without being shot a pointed glance. But she doesn’t reprimand me or say she told me so. For now, at least.

Seeing Katniss is only a couple people back in her own line, I plod back to where I’d been standing at a convenient pace so she can brush by me on her way into the pen. She doesn’t pass up the opportunity, slowing for just a moment to make fleeting contact. “Thanks,” she mutters, grazing the back of her hand against my gloved one but keeping her face forward to avoid attracting attention.

We’re close enough that she can feel my nod as I too avert my gaze. “Good luck.”

Then she disappears into the mix of kids, and my stomach unexpectedly seizes and does a backflip. Suddenly, I think I get how the parents gathering around the edge of the Square feel. Mrs. Everdeen was right about me being at the mercy of the government, same as everybody else. Now with both girls out of my reach, I truly am just another helpless observer.

That feeling is still eating at me as the ceremony sets to begin. Again, I’m stationed away from the action, keeping watch from a tower with one of the many camera crews as Mayor Undersee and the Capitol escort exit the Justice Building and sit in two of the three chairs on the stone platform in front of it. Three chairs is quite depressing, as that leaves only one for any living victors. And from what I’ve seen of Haymitch Abernathy, he’s not much to be proud of. He can’t even be bothered to show up on time for the reaping.

As the clock strikes two, the Mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read the history of Panem. The nation rising from the ashes of North America, the Dark Days that saw the districts rebel against the Capitol, the defeat of the traitors and the Treaty of Treason that brought in new laws and created the Hunger Games. I’ve heard this all ten million times before, so I zone out and search for Katniss in the crowd of girls on the near side of the Square.

There she is, near the back with the other older girls, squeezing her fists and then wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. It’s a plain but rather nice blue number, probably one of her mother’s from way back when, since Seam people can’t afford shit like that. Most of them can’t even afford to eat. Her hair is still braided, I note as I get a better look this time, it’s just pinned up in an intricate manner. I can’t help how my thoughts roam to tearing that hairdo apart, running my fingers through it and ripping that dress off of her. It’s a much more pleasant way to pass the time. Not that I’ll get the chance to do any of that, anyway. I have no doubt that the first thing she’ll do when she gets home is change.

A commotion calls my attention back to the stage just in time to see Haymitch stumble out of the Justice Building and land in his seat. The crowd responds with a smattering of applause, but he’s too busy trying to hug the escort to notice the ovation.

The mayor looks distressed, and I don’t blame him. Everyone looks down on his district already, and now his lone victor is giving the haters even more fodder. He quickly leans into the mic again. “And now to draw the names of our tributes, please welcome Miss Effie Trinket!”

Right, that’s her name. I once overheard Xavier referring to Trinket as a high-maintenance and shallow bitch, which is hilarious coming from him. He’s the very definition.

Curly pink-tinged wig slightly off kilter after that incident, Effie steps up to the microphone with a fervent and cringingly high-pitched, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!” Then she starts on some bullshit speech about how honored she is to be here, which might seem more convincing had Haymitch not just molested her on national television. My eyes wander to Katniss again and find her looking across the Square. Following the direction of her face, my eyes land on Gale looking back at her, vaguely amused. Despite the fact that they’re down there and I’m up here, I feel a burble of jealousy in my gut. This is something they can bond over that I’m not a part of. Even at the reapings I attended in Two, I was never terrified for my life like this. The fear is clear in his eyes, despite the ironic smile.

“Now,” Effie continues, “the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District Twelve at the 74th annual Hunger Games.” After a pause to let that sink in, she chirps, “As usual, ladies first!” Then she clacks her way over to the girls’ reaping ball, her high heels obnoxiously loud now that the crowd has fallen dead silent.

I’m behind Katniss and can’t see her face, but the tension in her shoulders and the clenching of her fists spell out her anxiety anyway. I wish I was down there so she could squeeze my hand instead. I wish I could whisper assurances in her ear that it’s not her, and that even if it was, she’d kick so much ass in the Games. But I can’t, so I wait up here with bated breath like everyone else. It doesn’t even hit me how scared I am until Effie is returning to the microphone, paper slip in hand. She unfolds the paper and looks at the name, and in that instant I just about lose my lunch onto the head of some eighteen year-old girl below me.

Still obnoxiously chipper, Effie pronounces, “Primrose Everdeen.”

What? I blink, trying to process this. No. No, this isn’t happening. Forgetting about vomiting, my stomach now drops into my asshole, because I know immediately what’s going to happen. Katniss didn’t have her name in there twenty times after all. It was twenty-one, for all intents and purposes.

For a second I wonder if I’m wrong, because Katniss doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t come rushing forward to volunteer like I initially expected. Then she tips to the side a little, forcing someone beside her to reach out and steady her. My eyes jump to the front, where the young girls are clearing out from around Prim, staring in disbelief. Twelves rarely get picked, and the murmurs rising up from around the Square make clear the surprise and displeasure of the crowd. The youngest victor ever was Finnick Odair at fourteen, and that had as much to do with his looks as it did his fighting skills. The young kids don’t stand a chance. The mere thought of Prim being cut down by Cato sends physical pain radiating through my body.

Primrose stalls even longer than she did at the sign-in booth, but eventually she gets her feet to move toward the stage. Somehow in this moment she has the presence of mind to tuck in her loose shirttail, while Katniss still appears to be paralyzed. Then suddenly the older girl is moving through the crowd, heading for the aisle between the boys and girls pens.

“Prim!” comes the strangled cry from her throat. The girl in question whips around and looks on her sister’s panicked face. The second cry is clearer. “Prim!” Katniss starts down the aisle toward her, but two of my comrades step in her way and hold her back. I can only see a piece of her face, but the desperation in it is unmistakeable as she fights back against their grip. “I volunteer!” she hollers. “I volunteer!” Pushing one of the men aside, she steadies her stance and her voice. “I volunteer as tribute!”

“I believe we have a volunteer!” Effie announces, surprise permeating her tone as Katniss runs down the aisle and wraps Prim up in her arms. “Lovely! But I believe there’s a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um . . .” she trails off, unsure herself. The mayor has stepped forward and is saying something to her, something I can’t hear from this distance. But I can see the pained expression on his face, the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Yes, Katniss and his daughter are friends of sorts. He would know her. Speaking again, he shakes his head resignedly.

Meanwhile, Katniss has bent down to Prim’s level like she did outside the pen and is talking to her urgently. I can’t make out her words either, but Prim’s cries are clear and loud. “No, Katniss! No! You can’t go!” She clings onto her big sister, whose face now goes stony. There’s that impenetrable act I’ve seen so many times.

“Prim, let go,” her sharp voice carries. Prim doesn’t even think about it, but I spot Gale emerging from the crowd and hurrying over to intervene. “Let go!”

Gale swoops in and plucks Primrose off of Katniss. “No!” she shrieks as he hoists her up to his chest and turns to carry her away. “No!” He retreats down the aisle as her screams continue, making my throat ache. Even if I didn’t know the sisters, my heart would break watching this exchange. Acquainted with them as I am, it shatters.

The Peacekeepers formerly surrounding Prim now make a box around Katniss and escort her the remaining distance to the stage. Effie Trinket beckons her welcomingly as she climbs the stairs with even steps, looking slightly dazed but otherwise emotionless. Not that it fools me. I can feel the terror coming off her in waves.

“Well, bravo!” gushes Trinket as she guides the brunette to the microphone. “That’s the spirit of the Games!” I’m suddenly tasting bile again. “What’s your name?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” she mumbles.

“I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn’t it?” Trinket probes.

“...Yes.”

Seemingly ignorant of - or at least immune to - the girl’s hollow tone, the escort trills, “Don’t want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!”

The Square is every bit as silent as the moment she plucked Prim’s name from the bowl. But the tension in the air makes it clear this is not a simple lack of enthusiasm. The district is refusing to clap for this. Refusing to honor not Katniss, but the system that required her to take this action in the first place. But then something else happens. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to her. I’m unfamiliar with the gesture, but in this instance I assume it must be something akin to giving the Capitol the finger. Which I wouldn’t mind doing either, at the moment.

It probably has some deeper meaning than that, because Katniss appears genuinely moved, on the verge of losing her composure. Thankfully, Haymitch chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate her, usurping the spotlight. “Look at her. Look at this one!” he hollers, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “I like her! Lots of…” He can’t think of the word for a while. “Spunk!” he settles on triumphantly. “More than you!” He releases her and starts for the front of the stage. “More than you!” he shouts, pointing directly into a camera. Before he can say any more, he plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.

If the situation weren’t so dire, I might laugh. It is some very well timed comic relief. Because with every camera gleefully trained on Haymitch, Katniss has a few seconds to release a tiny shudder and compose herself without the crack in her mask being broadcasted around the country. Good. Let them know just how brave she is. Putting her hands behind her back, she wipes her face of any expression and appears to stare off into space, though I can see her eyes wandering a little. It takes me a moment to realize they are sweeping over the Peacekeepers in particular. She’s looking for me.

Firming up my stare, I try to telepathically communicate as best I can, drilling into her with my eyes in hopes she feels them more than the thousands of other pairs that are slowly returning to her. It takes a few seconds, but suddenly her gray eyes snap up and straight into mine. The breath pops out of her lungs as though she was just kicked in the stomach, and for an instant the fear shows in her eyes. But I guess she draws strength from my calm yet intense gaze, because she sucks the air back in and stands tall. I feel anything but calm, but I learned how to act, how to give off the energy and emotion I need to to manipulate a situation, or a person. It’s not a skill I explicitly taught her, but she was never bad at it to begin with, except where I was concerned.

Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie Trinket is trying to get the ball rolling again. “What an exciting day!” she warbles as she attempts to straighten her wig, which has listed severely to the right. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!” Clearly hoping to contain her tenuous hair situation, she plants one hand on her head as she crosses to the ball that contains the boys’ names and grabs the first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium, and before the crowd even has a chance to get nervous again, she’s reading the name. “Peeta Mellark.”

Wow. As if I couldn’t feel any worse. I’m glad it’s not Gale for Katniss’s sake, but couldn’t it have been some boy I don’t know? I mean, I don’t exactly know Peeta, but he seemed like such a nice kid. Caring in demeanor and exacting in his work. Had a lot of potential in business, I remember thinking. But that’s all gone up in smoke now. If the Careers don’t kill him, Katniss will.

He appears struck by shock as much as Prim was, but takes less time to get moving. With his steady steps, he’s trying to copy Katniss’s emotionless air, but he’s not nearly as good at it. The fear of prey is clear in his eyes and it unconsciously makes my inner hunter salivate. Despite his musculature, I would have watched this from Two and considered him easy pickings, someone I’d snack on for breakfast before going after the real challenge, his impassive district partner.

No, what the fuck am I thinking? The blood drains from my head as the obvious finally dawns on me. Had Clove not done what she did, I would be in these Games against Katniss. Teaming up with Cato, planning ways to kill her. Of course, I wouldn’t know her, but the mere thought is horrifying enough that this time I actually do puke in my mouth. And vomit’s not one of the things I’m willing to swallow, so when a second wave pushes up from my stomach I let it all loose on the floor of the camera nest. The video guy next to me and the other Peacekeeper in the tower shoot me a pair of strange and disgusted looks.

“Knew those rations had gone bad,” I mumble, wiping my mouth and turning back to the stage. My forehead is bursting with sweat and I’m trembling, gripping the railing as I try to get a grip on myself. I cope by focusing all my attention on the proceedings, allowing myself no more time to ruminate. Effie is asking for volunteers, but this time there’s no hero to step in for the unfortunate tribute. I’m pretty sure at least one of his brothers is young enough to do so, but few people love or protect their siblings so much as Katniss does. Had I not trained for the Games, I wouldn’t have stepped in for one of mine either. Of course, Josh is a boy and Jordan was last eligible when I was twelve, but theoretically speaking.

The mayor begins to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason and my mind threatens to spin out of control again. I try to catch Katniss’s eye, to somehow communicate how sorry I am, how I get it now, but she’s staring into space for real this time. I breathe my way through the ensuing minutes, counting in and out, physically forcing my body to calm down. But it’s still tough because I’ve only ever expected to fear for my own life, not the life of someone I love. So very, very much.

Once the Treaty is finished, the mayor steps back and motions for the two tributes to shake hands. When they face each other to do so, their prolonged eye contact surprises me. Katniss tends to avoid it to begin with, one of her many antisocial qualities, but its intensity and the firmness of their handshake suggests some familiarity as well. Of course, they are classmates. And with all emotions heightened as they are right now, it could also be a forced sense of camaraderie. Because while they’ll be enemies in the arena, there’s a long week of shit they’ll have to get through together first, with only a drunken victor and an obliviously peppy escort to guide them. Maybe in a sense it would have been best if Gale was reaped. Katniss can use all the allies she can get, and she’s not great at making friends. I can only hope this boy is as nice as he seemed, and not just cunning and manipulative like me. Like Clove.

The pair turns back to face the audience and Horn of Plenty, the national anthem, begins to play. The familiar tune elicits a mix of confusing emotions in me. If I were on that stage by choice, it would be a battle cry, but now it’s a song of helpless mourning. A reminder of how in control the Capitol is, of how they can take our loved ones and kill them for sport before our eyes. Of course, Katniss has a good chance with the training I’ve given her. At least I can take solace in knowing I’m helping her in a sense, and in knowing she might come back. To get through these weeks until she returns, I have to believe that she will. That the odds _are_ in her favor.

Katniss is gazing at her mother and sister as I refocus on her, and within seconds her eyes flick up to meet mine again. A slightly shaky breath pushes out of her again, but this time her eyes don’t hold fear so much as regret and resignation. Her lips don’t move much, she has an act to keep up, but it’s enough for me to recognize the words, “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. She has nothing to be sorry for.

Whether she agrees or not, she takes one last lingering look at me before consciously averting her eyes to the hills in the distance. They stay there until the anthem ends and Effie guides the tributes through the doors of the Justice Building, where Cray and a group of Peacekeepers await to take them into custody. They turn down the hallway, the doors close, and she’s gone.

Though I’m shaking, I manage to make it down the ladder without falling into the crowd as it is dismissed. Despite my racing thoughts, my mind is numb. Did that really just happen? My incessant blinking fails to wake me from this nightmare. I step under the tower to avoid the crush of bodies leaving the Square, still staring at the stage. Slumping against the scaffolding, I close my eyes for mere seconds before I feel a tentative hand come to rest on my shoulder. “Mason?”

“Captain Stark.” Turning slowly, I look into the older woman’s eyes. Though striking as ever, I recognize the sympathy and concern lurking there. A tiny bit of dread lifts from my shoulders. She’s not here to yell at me for intervening earlier. She’s not here to say anything at all, apparently, though she gives my shoulder a minute squeeze. “I… I don’t feel so well.”

“Go home, Agent,” she commands me gently. “It’s okay.”

With a grateful nod, I get my voice to form a scratchy, “Thank you.” Then I turn and meld into the crowd, trying to swallow the lump and sob that seem to have lodged in my throat.

I’m a little outside of town, turning onto the road to the train station by the time my thoughts start to solidify. I need to go see Katniss. In just under an hour, she’ll be driven to the train station and whisked away to the Capitol, and I have so much to tell her before then. I have advice and useful scouting reports to pass on. Plus I have to say goodbye. I need to.

Knowing I can’t just waltz in there to visit her in my Peacekeeper garb, I hurry to the barracks to gear down and grab a change of clothes. Dressing down is a gamble, I know that, but it’s either visit her in disguise and risk getting arrested or attempt to visit her in uniform, probably fail to get past the door, and definitely get arrested. Purnia was right. Katniss makes me do very stupid things.

Rooting through my stash of clothing from home, I throw together the most ratty and nondescript outfit I can. My lighter skin tone aside, with my dark hair and eyes I’ll more easily pass for Seam than Townie. Unfortunately, even my cheapest clothes would barely pass as Townie caliber. Frankly, I don’t look like a citizen of Twelve. I look like an off-duty Peacekeeper hanging around the barracks. And on that note, I’m sure I’ve worn every one of my shirts around the barracks, too.

What’s more, my face will be recognizable to anyone stationed here, no matter what shift they work. There’s only eighty-three of us; we all sort of know each other. And unfortunately, my only hat with a brim to hide my face has Glenwood Hot Springs emblazoned on it. Like that’s not gonna raise any red flags.

Deciding the plain beige t-shirt and ripped jeans I’m wearing will have to do, I settle on tying my hair back to at least alter my facial appearance a bit and hope the bangs don’t give me away. As I walk over to dig in my desk for one of my rarely used hair elastics, my eyes fall to my chair and go wide with discovery. Of course.

Sighing heavily with relief, I pull my hair into a ponytail and tuck it up under Katniss’s hunting cap. I sweep the bangs under the brim as I pull it down close to my eyebrows, then slip her jacket over my shoulders. It’s several sizes too big, but no one would expect a Seam brat to have perfectly tailored clothing anyway. Zipping it up to hide the potentially familiar shirt, I take another look in the mirror. Much better.

Despite the barracks being mostly deserted, I pull a Katniss and shimmy out my window, reaching up to prop it open once I hit the ground. Then I dash along the fence, past Cray’s house, and enter the town from the back. I never stop running.

I arrive at the Square, flushed and panting, at 3:07 according to the town clock. Just over twenty minutes to go. Hopefully she doesn’t have a line of people waiting to see her, though I doubt that would be the case. I’ve just climbed the very steps Katniss did not an hour ago and am trucking toward the doors when they open and Madge Undersee comes walking out. Shit! Slowing my pace, I duck my head and pray she doesn’t recognize me. But Madge isn’t even looking at me, just hurrying toward the other set of steps. The girl looks a bit agitated, but her eyes are dry. As she strides away purposefully, I sigh with relief again and push through the doors.

Upon reaching the lobby, I furtively glance about for any indicators of where the tributes might be. A pair of Peacekeepers by the elevator catch my eye, so I make my way over there. “Hey,” I mumble, purposely deepening my voice, “I’m here to visit one of the tributes.”

One of them nods and presses the button to open the doors. “Second floor. Once you’re up there, turn left for the girl and right for the boy.” I nod my understanding and board the rickety contraption. It smells kind of like old cheese, which doesn’t help the state of my stomach. Gratefully I exit on the second floor and turn to the left, hurry to the table set up some ten yards away.

“Here to see Miss Everdeen?” poses one of the Peacekeepers at the table. There’s two sitting and one flanking them on either side. None are wearing helmets, and I don’t recognize any of them. I nod breathlessly and he pulls out a form and a pen. “Name.”

Jeez. For all the trouble I went to crafting a believable outfit, I really didn’t think this through. My brain freezes and I struggle to think of a name, any name other than my own. Johanna. Katniss. Prim. Johanna. Hanna. “Hanna Taylor,” I blurt. Turns out, I didn’t even have to think of a name other than my own. It’s just cutting off at my middle name, which thankfully also passes as a surname.

“Relationship to the Tribute?”

As I open my mouth, it occurs to me that this might be the only chance I get to declare this officially. Blinking, I stammer, “…G-girlfriend.”

The man’s lips pull tight with a tiny sympathetic smile and he turns the paper around, marks an X on a line at the bottom. “Sign here, please.” I forge some ridiculous signature that looks nothing like my own, making a point to add an H to the end of my truncated first name. Noting that he spelled it that way too, I slide the form back to him and turn to the door.

“No, no,” says the nearest guard as he extends an arm to block my path. “There’s someone in there already. You’ll have to wait.”

Nodding obediently, I plop down on the bench across from the door with a scowl. Who could it even be? As I understand, they only allow ten to fifteen minutes per visit, and Madge just left. Gale must have come right after her family. Maybe more people like her than she thinks. Relieved of the fear of being recognized by one of my usual coworkers, I unzip the jacket to release the heat my prolonged sprint produced, leaning back against the wall.

A few minutes later, the other man at the table nods to the one by the door, and he walks into the room. “Okay,” he says, breaking up whatever visit is going on.

A male voice requests, “Just a few more minutes?” Oh, shit fuck. That’s Gale. My first impulse is to run, but where to? If I leave, I might not have time to see her once the coast is clear. Deciding to take my chances, I shrink as small as I can, drop my face and hope he doesn’t notice me.

“Time to go,” the guard insists, and the woman standing by me follows him in for backup. By the sounds I hear, they’re forcibly pulling him away.

“Take care of them, Gale - whatever you do, don’t let them starve!” Katniss’s voice has an unusually high pitch and degree of panic in it as she levels her last request.

“I won’t!” Gale calls back. “You know I won’t! I’ll see you soon, okay?” He barely gets that out before the door slams in his face. Shaking off the Peacekeepers on either arm, he turns to go to the elevator but then pauses in his tracks. As his head turns my way, I duck mine to tip the brim down again - I could barely peek past it to see him to begin with. But almost immediately, his hand cups under my chin and lifts it to reveal my face. His eyes bore into me and I gulp, my own eyes wild with a panic that I don’t even try to hide. Gale’s expression shifts from irritated confusion to anger and disbelief. He steps back, snapping his hand away like I’m a burning hunk of coal.

“So it’s you,” he surmises, eyes as wide as mine. I’m not sure me being here to say goodbye quite justifies that leap until I remember I’m wearing her clothes. The hat comes and goes, but Katniss wears this jacket almost every time she hunts, and much of the time even when she’s not. She probably wore it on their hunt yesterday afternoon, and if it was missing this morning, well, Gale can put two and two together.

There’s no believable excuse I can make, not to Gale. So I don’t bother. “Gale, please,” I beseech him in a hushed tone. This is not the time for this. He can rail on me or try to beat me up later if he wants, whatever, but if these Capitol Peacekeepers discover my identity, I’m in deep shit. No doubt he’d like that, but I have to hope his affection for Katniss will at least allow me to say goodbye before he has me dragged off, subjected to a tribunal, possibly Avoxed.

The wheels are turning in his head, I see it as he bites his lip and glances at the puzzled guards. “Please don’t,” I repeat. My pride has no place here. I’m at his mercy, and I know it every bit as much as I hate it.

The boy takes a long look over his shoulder at the door he just exited. Still hoping he will he keep his mouth shut for Katniss’s sake, to my dismay I notice the tightening of his jaw, the flush that’s reddening his olive skin. My one saving grace could backfire if he is angry enough to hurt her out of spite. Katniss is not just his crush, she’s his best friend and hunting partner, his closest ally. Gale’s disdain for the powers that be is no secret, and my conversations with Katniss have only made that more evident. And this ally of his is involved with a Peacekeeper, of all people. It couldn’t be a bigger slap to the face, a bigger betrayal on many levels.

“Wow,” he enunciates, turning back to me. Shaking his head with an aggravated snort, the disgust in his expression seeps into his voice as he remarks, “She’ll be happy to see you.” Then he storms to the elevator and smacks the button so hard I wonder if he broke it.

“Miss Taylor?” As I’m busy watching Gale’s glare disappear behind the closing elevator doors, the guard by the door has to repeat himself, all the more irritated. “Miss Taylor?”

“Huh?” Whipping my head around, I see the guard motioning at the door. All my tension and worry exits me in one breath as I leap to my feet, a smile instantly spreading across my face. Oh, thank god. As I turn the doorknob and enter the room, Katniss startles and spins around from where she’s staring out the window, gripping the sill. Her mouth and eyes fall open at the sight of me.

My confidence suddenly renewed, I toss the door shut and smirk, “And you said you weren’t gonna volunteer.” I open my arms as she crashes into them, squeezes me so tightly it makes breathing an issue. Far from complaining, I only reciprocate. We spend either hours or seconds pressed so tightly together, sharing body heat and a sense of security that will be gone far too soon. I run my hands slowly down her back, memorizing the muscles and divots as I bury my face in her collarbone and inhale her characteristically earthy scent.

When she begins to tremble in my arms, I loosen my own grip a little to sneak a look at her face. Fisting my shirt with both hands, she whispers into my neck, “If Clove hadn’t…” She lifts her face a little to make eye contact, looking rather dazed. “I could have killed you.”

“Please,” I scoff.

Finally pulling back, Katniss drags her eyes over my body. “Nice outfit,” she deadpans. But from her growing smirk and dancing eyes, it seems my wearing her clothes has the same effect on her as the opposite has on me.

“Had to look the part,” I grin. Now with a little space between us, I notice something about hers too. Pinned over her heart is a small circular pin of a bird in flight, an arrow slicing through the bottom of the circle just under the bird’s claws. “Where'd you get that?” It appears to be real gold, I note as I lean closer for a better look.

“Madge,” she tells me. “She didn’t stay long, just put this on my dress and made me promise to wear it in the arena.” But she’s not looking at the pin, she’s focused on her jacket as she trails her fingers down one of the arms. A debate rages in her features as she eyes the worn leather. “You should hold on to it for me.”

Shaking my head immediately, I counter, “I can’t. It was your father’s.”

Recoiling a little, she asks, almost accusingly, “How do you know that?”

“It’s too big for you. You wear it all the time. Hug it around yourself sometimes when you’re sad or nervous.” As I list off the evidence, she drops her eyes to the carpet and nibbles on her cheek. Reaching in to take one of her hands, I conclude, “Your mom should have it. I’ll take it to her.”

She blinks soberly. “Thank you.”

As I pull her into another hug, I survey the room over her shoulder and suddenly realize I’ve been here before. The velvet furniture, thick carpet. This is the same room where I talked with Scar all those months ago. Back when I barely knew Katniss. I don’t mention this discovery, of course, as Katniss is not a fan. But remembering my friend from the program kicks my brain back into gear, and I shrug free of her arms to make eye contact again, now gripping her shoulders intently.

“Listen,” I begin, “the reaping in Two is the last one because of the time difference and their proximity to the Capitol. So I don’t know for sure, but if the tributes are who I expect, they’re strong this year.”

“The girl is good with knives,” Katniss remarks dryly. “Prone to break alliances.”

“True,” I confirm, fighting off a smile. “Also a good wrestler. Feisty. Mouthy. Good at hand-to-hand for her size, but only if she has a knife. She relies too heavily on her specialty weapon. But don’t overlook her.”

“How could I?” she grumbles.

“Hey!” I snap, a hand flying up to touch her cheek. “Focus. This isn’t about me.” My eyes narrow. “Don’t you go chasing after her, brainless. She’s lethal from a distance and in close quarters. If you got yourself killed on some half-cocked revenge mission, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” My words strike her true, judging from her glum mouth twitch and deflating posture. Still I feel the need to insist, “Promise me you’ll steer clear of her.”

“Of course,” she retorts. “I’ll steer clear of the whole Career pack, like anyone who isn’t a complete idiot.”

Sighing out my anxiety, I remark, “Chances are, one of the other Careers will take her out before you get the chance anyway. She’s bound to piss someone off enough.”

Nodding brusquely, Katniss quickly changes the subject. “What about the boy?”

“His name’s Cato,” I inform her. “He’s huge, and a pretentious asshole. Handsome, will definitely get sponsors. He’ll score at least a ten for sure, but you’d fare better against him than Clove.”

“Okay,” she says, clearly interested though she’s folding her arms. “How so?”

“He’s a shit range fighter,” I reply simply. “He can throw a spear half decently, but never spent much time tossing knives or shooting. He only likes weapons that will tear people apart, preferably from close enough to get splattered in their blood. Spears, swords, maces, machetes.”

Katniss snorts to cover the growing fear in her eyes. “Sounds pleasant.”

“The Capitol loves that shit,” I point out. “He’ll be popular. But he has his downfalls. He has a really bad temper, and he’s arrogant.” A sly grin crawls onto my lips. “Not like anyone I know.” Glaring, Katniss knocks my hands from her shoulders, granting me a satisfied chuckle. “Piss him off or take him out from a distance. That’s how you beat him. Surprise him, because he’ll definitely overlook you for being a girl half his size, no matter how you score.”

Peering closely, she gathers, “You’ve experienced it firsthand.”

“Have I ever. Despite usually beating him.” Katniss blinks, absorbing this with what appears to be surprise. I roll my eyes. “I excelled at sparring because I was versatile,” I explain. “It’s one of the most valuable qualities you can have, and I passed it on to you.”

“I wish _you_ could be my mentor,” mutters Katniss, “not that hopeless drunk.”

“Me too.”

The girl searches my eyes, a certain desperation seeping into hers. “Anything else you can help with?”

Racking my brain for any more insider info to pass on, I start by considering the trip itself, then their arrival in the Capitol. “The remake isn’t fun, as I hear. They soak and scrub you, rip all your body hair out, and put you in an embarrassing outfit for the parade. But deal with it. First impressions are key to getting sponsors.”

Those gray eyes widened at the body hair part and have not yet receded. “All of it?”

I can’t help but chuckle as I catch her drift. “No, I think they generally leave your pubes.” My lips turn up. “Unless maybe if they’re planning on parading you naked covered in coal dust.”

The new tribute scowls, crossing her arms again. “That’s a very real possibility, Hanna, and I don’t find it very funny.”

“Okay sorry, sorry,” I backtrack, biting my lip to suppress my growing grin. Stepping back a touch, I run my eyes over the tribute and size her up. “With your legs, you’d be first to the Cornucopia. It’s dangerous if you’re not in an alliance, but it would give you first pick of the weapons.” I shrug. “But since you can handle several weapons, first pick isn’t that important. You could wait it out and see what becomes available as the kill count grows. Your call.” She raises an eyebrow at my rare state of indecision, making me shrug again. “I’d say go for it for sure, except Cato’s vicious in close. He’s not that fast, but if you didn’t pick him off before he got his hands on a sword, you’d probably be dead.”

“It’s not really him I’m worried about,” she admits. When I cock my head, she blinks to the ground and mumbles, “I don’t know if I can kill Peeta.”

This, I can understand. It’s tough knowing you might have to kill someone you’ve known for years. Not that some part of me wouldn’t have gotten a perverse kind of satisfaction out of killing Cato. I place a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “District partners usually leave each other for last except sometimes when the Career pack is splitting up. You know that. Odds are, you won’t have to.”

“The odds haven’t been very dependable as of late,” she remarks dryly.

“True,” I admit. The curiosity I felt at their intense eye contact reemerging, I casually ask, “So, you guys are friends, or…?”

“He saved my life once,” says Katniss flatly. “Sort of.” I squint and she waves me off. “Long story.”

As if she could get me to dismiss this revelation. It could prove more deadly than Cato and Clove combined. I know just how badly Katniss hates owing anybody. Taking her face in both hands, I urge her, “Do whatever you have to do, Katniss. I need you to come home.” My throat swelling painfully, I choke out, “I need you.”

Widening at my words, Katniss’s eyes darken with emotion and flit down to my lips. Before she has a chance to close the gap, I’m already leaning in and pressing a desperate kiss to hers. She responds readily, tongue slipping between my lips as she sucks in a sharp breath through her nose. Our passionate kiss is tinged with sadness and longing. Longing for a reality where she wasn’t picked, longing for simpler times that have been stripped away from us forever. Even if she returns, things won’t be the same. She won’t be the same.

My eyes well up despite my best efforts and a single tear rolls down my cheek. When it contacts Katniss’s face, she immediately pulls back, swiping it away. “Damn it, no. No tears,” she demands, stubbornly blinking her own burning eyes. “I can’t look like I’ve been crying. Nobody’s going to label me an easy target,” she proclaims defiantly.

“I dunno, that’s what I’d do if I wasn’t from a career district,” I muse, wiping my eyes. “Act like a sniveling weakling and hope everyone ignores me, then whip out my combat skills partway through the Games, once the field has shrunk enough.”

“I volunteered out of Twelve. There’s no way I’m flying under the radar.”

“Then use that to your advantage,” I advise her. “Make sure they remember you. You’re going to need all the sponsors you can get against those Careers. The sob story of volunteering for little sis should help.” She glares at me and I tip my head drolly. “You know what I mean. I’m a student of the Games and I know this shit works. Let them into your personal life, give them something to feel, and the Capitol people will be eating out of your hand.”

“I don’t want them in my personal life!” Katniss all but shouts.

“It’s better than losing your life, isn’t it?” I argue. Hands cupping her face again, I hold her gaze intently. “You entered the game. Now you have to play it.”

Sounds from the hallway catch our ears and snap our eyes to the door. As I turn back, I see panic flaring up in her eyes like it is in my gut, and I pull her into an urgent embrace. “You’re gonna do great,” I whisper. “See you soon.”

With a dry chuckle, Katniss retorts, “God, I hope not.” It takes me a second to catch the reference, the moment we parted for the first time. The somberness of the moment sucks the intended humor from that, but I gratify her with a half-hearted smirk anyway as I hear the door opening behind me.

“Time,” the guard calls just as I lunge forward for another kiss. The sound of him walking toward us only intensifies the contact, and we both lose our breath and our mind in the span of a few short seconds. An arm wraps around my midsection and yanks me away, making Katniss’s eyes grow huge.

“Wait!” she yells. More footsteps are coming in from the hallway, but the man holds up for just a second, long enough for my girl to cup my cheeks and lay one final kiss on my lips. “I love you,” she whispers, emotion threatening to crack her voice.

“I love you too!” I call back evenly as I’m guided backward by both Peacekeepers. “Stay strong. You got this, Katniss! I believe in you!” Then the door is closing and I lose sight of her, again. 

It’s for the best, because I couldn’t keep that calm facade up for a second longer. A choked sob bursts from my lips and I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle it while more tears sprout in my eyes. As I wipe them away with an indignant sniffle, I notice the woman at my arm looking on me with a touch of sympathy, like her comrade did earlier. Apparently even in the Capitol, there’s those of us who are just doing our job. I nod the gratitude I don’t actually feel and bolt for the elevator before I start crying for real.

***

Clove and Cato volunteer out of two, as I expected.

I'm sitting in the Commune watching live as it happens, leaning into Darius’s side with his arm draped over my shoulders, in silence. Hearing Clove’s voice as she volunteers makes my stomach tangle again, but I keep my expression neutral as I watch the little traitor climb the steps and introduce herself. My chest aches as the camera pans across her face, which only pisses me off more. I don’t want to care what happens to her.

As the broadcast fades out and some of the group starts to leave, Darius finally looks at me, speaking for the first time since he sat down. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because that’s stupid,” he says cautiously. “But if you need to talk or anything, you know where to find me.”

The offer is sweet, but rather useless. He can’t truly commiserate. Neither can Purnia, nor Athena. Ultimately, there’s no one else here who knows exactly what I’m feeling. But there’s two people not far away who are feeling something similar. I decide that’s where I belong right now.

Half an hour later, I’m passing through the gate to a familiar yard, a leather jacket balled up under my arm. The shutters are pulled on the Everdeen house, only an eerie silence coming from within. As it gives off an almost haunted feel, I unconsciously tiptoe up the steps to the porch. Lifting my fist, I give the door three steady raps with my knuckles, my heart suddenly jumping into my throat. The floorboards squeak, the lock clicks, and the door opens to reveal Mrs. Everdeen. She doesn’t look especially surprised to see me.

“Am I still invited?” Swallowing hard, I extend the jacket and the cap wrapped up inside it.

“Hanna!” Prim jumps out of her chair and rushes over, squeezing me tight in her arms as she presses her tear-stained face into my chest.

Mrs. Everdeen relieves me of the bundle, allowing me to hug her younger daughter in return. The way she reverently hangs Katniss’s effects on one of the coat hooks, like she’ll be back tomorrow, sends a stabbing pain through my chest that makes me double over into Prim. A sob catches in my lungs and I tip my face down to the girl’s ear to whisper, “I’m so sorry, Prim.”

Turning back to us, Mrs. Everdeen steps up to my left side and takes us both in her arms. The gesture is unexpected but far from unwelcome, and tears begin leaking from my eyes in response to the older woman’s warmth. “We’ll get through this,” she declares determinedly as she brushes strands of hair from my sticky cheeks. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have asked, the upcoming chapters will include some of the actual Games, but more so Johanna's experiences while it's going on. Watching it, interacting with others in the district. Less impactful events that stay the same may just be summarized. Not everything will remain unchanged, of course, with the plot alterations leading up to it, and we will see more of the Career Pack.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and top notch editing.


	16. Big Girls Don't Cry

Prim’s footfalls dampen as she passes the stairs on her way to the bathroom at the back of the house. When the door clicks shut, I let my head loll to the side to take in her mother. “It’s getting late,” I muse. “I should probably get going.”

It’s still somewhat light out, as we’re not even two weeks past the summer solstice, but it feels late. All in all, it’s been an emotionally trying day, and it hasn’t gotten easier since arriving here. The remaining Everdeens were attempting to eat some fish stew when I showed up a few hours ago, but not getting much down. I, on the other hand, was ravenous after barfing up my lunch, and inhaled a bowlful once the food touched my lips. By the time the reapings recap came on the air, I was scraping the dregs from the bowl with slices of bread. I’d thought Katniss’s family might not want to watch, but I guess they wanted to hear the commentary or see what she is up against. As soon as Cato jumped out of the crowd, I think they might have regretted that choice.

“You don’t have to.” My eyes refocus on Mrs. Everdeen as she replies, watching me closely. “Wednesday is one of your off days, isn’t it?”

Not following, I squint. “Yeah?”

“You can spend the night if you want,” she spells out. “If you’re tired or you just don’t want to be alone.”

My eyebrows arch with a hint of offense. “I’m a big girl, Mrs. E.”

“Grown up, anyway.” She does as good a deadpan tone as her daughter, so I don’t clue in to the joke until the corner of her mouth turns up.

Narrowing my eyes, I throw the woman a playful scowl. She’s only a hair taller than me herself, but she must have picked up on my height being a source of irritation for me. Like how I’d glare when Katniss would condescendingly pat my head or plant kisses between my eyes in our rare moments of unguarded affection in the house. Or how I pretended not to like it when she would push up on her toes a little to rest her chin atop my head while hugging me. Despite the teasing intent, it made me feel loved, safe. Not that I would ever admit that, nor admit that I needed it.

“The offer stands,” Mrs. Everdeen adds, pulling me from my reverie. Her small but genuine smile is inviting and chips at my defenses, at my common sense. Part of me wants the comfort, to be honest. But I’m not really family. I belong in the barracks, not in the Seam.

“Thanks, but… I shouldn’t.” Her blank expression makes me shift in my chair. Raising a hopeful eyebrow, I propose, “But I’ll still come around, if that’s okay.”

She nods, her slight smile reappearing. “You’re welcome here anytime, Johanna.” Now I’m smiling too, unexpectedly and unintentionally. We’ve come a long way since Prim’s party.

Holding her gaze earnestly, I nod my appreciation. “Thank you.”

Prim emerges from the bathroom moments later, with a freshly washed face but lingering sniffles. After promising to return tomorrow, I say my goodbyes and get one more long hug from the smaller girl.

It’s not until I make it back to the barracks and shut myself in my quarters that a haze of dread settles over me and I start to question my decision to go off on my own. The sight of my mussed up bed stabs at my flopping gut. Was it really just last night that I was skin-to-skin with Katniss, tangled up in her limbs, groaning obscenities into her mouth? Not to mention other places. I snort inwardly at the thought. It’s better than the alternative.

The emotional weight of the day's events continues to pile on, sagging my shoulders as I stand there taking in my new reality. There’s no mission or telecast to distract me, not like before. And suddenly I'm so tired. Not bothering with pajamas, I strip down on the way to my bed and flop onto the mattress, limbs sprawled among the blankets and hanging limply over the edge.

My first deep breath, meant to relax me, only bombards my brain with the lingering scents of my departed lover’s sweat and arousal mingling with mine. I squirm to rest my head on the pillow and find no reprieve there, tears welling in my eyes. It smells exactly like the crook of her neck where I love to rest my head. Unfortunately, it’s the closest thing I have right now. Pulling the pillow down to curl around it, I bury my nose in it and let my consciousness roll away with the silent tears.

***

Sleeping in is about the only advantage my day off affords me, given the circumstances. Working would be a much appreciated distraction today, but I find ways to make the time pass. Hitting the gym with Darius and conversing lightly, skirting around the woolly mammoth in the room. Hiking through an unfamiliar part of the forest in an effort to clear my head in the early afternoon. That rather predictably backfires, because although the woods is the most peaceful and beautiful place around here, it reminds me too much of her.

I’m rounding a tree on the way home, eyes on the ground, when my face collides with something furry. Startled, I recoil and swat at it, but it’s already gone. There’s no time to sigh in relief before the animal comes back flying at me. As my hands snap up to catch what I can now see is a rabbit swinging from a piece of string, I realize I’ve come across one of Gale Hawthorne’s snares. Of course. That’s something I can do with my unwanted time. Maybe not the most distracting, but at least useful.

I hurry the rest of the way home and collect my rucksack and a couple of waterproof bags to line it, then cut through town and enter the woods by the mayor’s house. Not five minutes into the forest, I locate the hollow log near the meadow, where Katniss stores her bow and my axes. From there, I retrace some steps I’ve taken a few times before, searching for the bow and quiver designated as mine. My tracker’s memory serves me well, and within minutes I’m nocking my first arrow, taking quiet steps along the forest floor.

Lacking Katniss’s abundant experience hunting live prey, I have a rough time at first. But once the animals’ movement patterns become more predictable, picking them off is easy. By the time school’s nearly out, I’ve nabbed three squirrels and a rabbit, along with a few handfuls of tree nuts. The bell is ringing as I make it to the school, panting from my dash back to the district.

When the kids start pouring out the doors, I’m leaning against the north side of the building, in an inconspicuous spot but with a good view of all the kids heading northwest from any exit. Because of my vantage point, I start to think the kid skipped when she doesn't emerge for a while. But then she comes around the corner at the end of the rush, hands jammed in her pockets and eyes on the ground. My chest throbs and I push off the wall, jogging up beside Prim so I can nudge her arm.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say, forcing a smile when her head snaps up with furtive eyes. They widen in surprise but she doesn’t respond verbally. So I press, “How was your first day as a twelve?”

Prim’s mouth twitches. “Could have been better,” she mumbles dryly. “Everyone was staring at me.”

“Well, you made quite an impression yesterday,” is my mindless quip that I immediately regret. Prim barely has time to glare at me before I’m asking, “You okay?”

“I’ll survive,” she says. “Katniss saw to that.”

There’s not much I can say in response, so I walk in silence until Prim brushes my side and my arm automatically goes around her. We continue that way a short distance until she pipes up, “Do you know the tributes from Two?”

Suddenly on alert, I pull back and question her, “Why?”

“Just wanted to know if the boy’s as scary as he looks,” she shrugs. “I know Two’s a bigger district, I just thought maybe you’d have seen him around.”

“I know both of them,” I admit. “Cato’s scary but beatable, as long as Katniss can keep her head. He has an awful temper and it makes him vulnerable.”

Eyes on the scenery, Prim bites her lip. “Good.”

I wish I could reassure her better. So I do. “Can you keep a secret, Prim?”

“You already know I can,” she answers, shooting me a teasing glance over her shoulder.

Smiling again, I sidle up beside her once more. “I trained with Katniss,” I divulge quietly into her ear. “I taught her how to fight.”

Crystal blue eyes go wide. “When?”

“The last few months. Before she went hunting with Gale, some days I’d teach her things.”

Smirking into her collar, Prim teases, “You mean other than tonsil tag?”

Giving the kid a jocular little shove, I shoot her a glare. “Brat.” But I’m smiling, pleasantly surprised that she’s retained at least some of her sense of humor. “Things like throwing spears and knives. Wrestling. How to get strong.”

“I saw her working out a lot,” reflects Prim. “Running more, too. She told me you showed her the exercises but I didn’t know that was why.”

“That was why,” I nod. “She asked me to teach her everything I knew. Which was a lot.”

The young blonde gazes up at me in admiration. “You could have volunteered.”

“If I was allowed, I would have,” I declare. I mean it in more circumstances than she realizes. But she doesn’t need to know about what went down in Two. I’m starting to understand Katniss’s reluctance to open up to her, her instinct to shield her and protect what little innocence she may have left. Especially after yesterday.

“You really love her, don’t you?” Prim’s words cut through my thoughts and call my gaze back to her.

“I love her very much, Prim,” I solemnly assure her. “Your sister’s really special.” She merely nods, brow still creased. So I purposely loosen up, pulling on an affectionate smile and ruffling her hair. “So are you.”

We’re mere moments from the house by the time I remember something. “Prim, what does that salute mean?” She squints, and I clarify, “I mean, the kissing fingers thing you all did yesterday.” My curiosity was rekindled during the recap last night, but it seemed like an insensitive time to ask. And it feels safer to ask her than her mother. Despite Mrs. Everdeen’s apparent strength so far, I can’t forget her history of emotional instability.

Chewing on her cheek, Prim kicks at a pebble in passing. “It’s something you’ll see at funerals once in a while. A gesture of respect and gratitude.” She gulps. “It means goodbye to someone you love.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn't have asked.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugs, pushing through the gate. “Who else would you have asked?”

When we round the door, we find Mrs. Everdeen sitting in her rocker, staring off into space. My stomach drops and Prim tenses beside me. “Mom?” she calls softly.

Blinking away the blankness, the woman meets her daughter’s eyes with a smile. “Hi, honey. How was your first day of twelve?”

Releasing a large but silent sigh, Prim shrugs, “It was whatever. Embarrassing, after yesterday.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, darling,” her mother counters. “Emotions were running high.”

“Yeah.” Prim shifts her weight a moment, then kicks off her shoes and goes upstairs without a word. All we hear is the door opening and Buttercup releasing a mewl of greeting. Then it clicks shut and we’re left with only each other’s company.

“Hey, Mrs. E.,” I say, venturing forward. “I have something for you. I don't know about here, but where I'm from it's customary to bring food to a grieving family.” Reaching into my backpack, I whip out the two bags full of kills and lay them on the table. “It’s not much, but I wasn't out there all day or anything. Just a couple hours.”

She hasn’t responded by the time I’ve finished scooping the nuts out of the bag, so I awkwardly regain eye contact and find her watching with a slightly arched eyebrow. “I'm hoping it can help a bit while Katniss is away,” I explain. “If I do this more often, I mean.” I know once the Games start I'll be practically glued to the TV whenever I'm off duty, but I can at least pitch in until then. And after, if necessary.

“It’s appreciated, but unnecessary,” she finally replies. “Gale is still going to include us in his spoils - he and Katniss had a standing pact about that, should one of them get reaped.”

“You had both of them working together before and still didn't always have enough,” I point out. “And Gale’s starting his training in the mines this week - he’ll have less time to hunt than when he was in school.” Gale’s never told me explicitly that he’s going to be a miner, but it’s sort of assumed. Almost all Seam men go that route. So do a good chunk of the women, at least until they marry or have kids. The businesses run by the Townies rarely hire Seam people, opting to protect their own first when even they are barely scraping by. So unless they are resourceful like Ripper or Mrs. Everdeen and start their own businesses of sorts, it’s the mines or starve.

“If I’m bringing by a little extra,” I add, “then hopefully you won’t go hungry. And Gale can save more of his game for his own family. He has a lot of mouths to feed.”

“True,” concedes Mrs. Everdeen, “but I want you to think about this, Johanna. The penalties could be harsh if you were caught.”

“Only if they know it's for you,” I contend. “No Peacekeeper would fault another one of us for craving some fresh meat. But that's why I'm bringing it here, not the Hob.” Nibbling at her lip in a way that painfully reminds me of her daughter, she uncertainly eyes up my kills. I’m winning, I can tell, so I go for the jugular. “Come on,” I urge her, “it’s what Katniss would have wanted.” Her eyes flick over wordlessly, and I frown. “Would want.”

Still not breaking her silence, the blonde stands and makes her way to the door. My pulse drums in my temple. Maybe I’ve just killed that always welcome offer with my careless speech. Or, worse, maybe she’s going to run away and lose her mind. To my surprise, she grabs Katniss’s game bag off the coat hook. Making her way back, she offers, “So your backpack doesn't start smelling like death.”

When she extends the bag to me, I accept it without argument. It’s an honor, being entrusted with one of the few keepsakes of her heroic daughter. It’s not her jacket, but it is a piece of her, and it will do. I respond with a sincere, “Thank you.”

I’m rolling it up to conceal in my own bag when she remarks, “I didn't even know you knew how to shoot a bow.”

Eyes sparkling, I peek up and smirk, “There's lots you don't know about me, Mrs. Everdeen.”

***

“What do you suppose they’ll do this year?”

Barely pulling my gaze from the early coverage of the opening ceremonies, I say, “Coal miners, of course. The only less creative district is Seven.” Lifting an eyebrow, I drawl, “Maybe one year they’ll try naked trees.”

“I meant Two,” clarifies Darius.

I immediately turn back to the screen. “No fucking clue.”

Normally there would be more of a crowd in the Commune for a major televised event like this, but it’s at an awkward hour here. Most of our crew is heading to bed around this time and the other two are caught up in shift change. The dozen or so of us watching on the three TVs around the room get to do so undisturbed until the rumble of approaching trucks announces the arrival of the afternoon shift. My favorite people.

Okay, they’re not all bad, but the ones who decide to come keep us company aren’t exactly the cream of the crop. I guess we share something in common, as the four of us make up about half of the Peacekeepers who ever use the gym. And the fact that we’re all fucking obnoxious.

“Hey, bro,” chirps one of the meatheads as he crashes beside Darius. His name is Rex, but mostly I remember him as the short shit who called me a cocky little bitch once. I’ve gained some respect from him and his buddy Adrian since then, but they haven’t gotten any of mine. “Your legs fall off yet?”

“Pretty much,” answers the redhead. Jerking his head at me, he adds, “Meanwhile this one was hiking all afternoon and is still going. Dunno how she does it.”

“Hiking?” smirks Adrian as he perches on the arm of the couch beside his friend. “Where, in the mineshaft?” He winks at me. “Someone been a naughty girl?”

“Please,” I roll my eyes, “taking a walk in the woods is me on a good day.”

“It’s a step down from assault, I’ll give you that,” Rex teases, earning himself some side eye. My encounter on the train with Fields may have been officially wiped from any records, but it’s gained me a bit of a reputation, especially with his shiftmates. It only intensified the usually friendly morning/afternoon rivalry we have going on around here.

“Oh, go do a chin up off the towel bar, Rex,” I scoff, culling a surprised chuckle from Darius.

The shorty blinks away the stunned insult in his face, visibly wracking his brain for a comeback, but just then the sound on the TV swells with the music that accompanies the chariots through the streets of the Capitol, drawing our collective attention to the screen. That familiar music automatically gives me goosebumps of exhilaration, despite finding this whole spectacle dispicable now that my girlfriend has fallen victim to it. Scowling, I stare straight ahead. Within moments, the first chariot is rolling out of the massive sliding doors of the Remake Center.

The stylists for District 1 had to have been on some kind of hallucinogen, what with the disgusting pink costumes they put their tributes in. Maybe the jewels are supposed to look glamorous, but nothing could salvage the outfits from the pink furry capes draped around the tributes’ shoulders. The girl has an especially ugly feathery headdress to top it off.

“The fuck are they supposed to be?” I scoff. “Flamingos?” This draws laughter from the boys, and I try to mask my satisfied smirk while they make similar disparaging remarks. To be fair, I’m predisposed to mock the tributes from One. Because of the rivalry between our districts, of course, but also because I caught their reaping last night before the one in Two and decided I hated both of them immediately. The girl because she’s classically gorgeous and will eat up a bunch of sponsors, and the boy because of his cocky grin and how he popped out of the crowd to volunteer with an annoying degree of blithe enthusiasm.

Cato and Clove’s stylists were much more on point, dressing them as gladiators in golden breastplates and winged helmets, which can only help the formidable vibe they’ve got going on. The sleeveless look was a good choice, showing off his bulk and her muscle definition. Seeing her, and her in what should have been my chariot, is not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. Either because I’m too invested in Katniss to notice or because I’m apparently incapable of feeling any emotions other than apathy and irritability right now.

More chariots hit the streets in succession. District 4 are some kind of sea creatures. District 10 are cowboys. Surprise, surprise. District 11 rolls out, dressed in farming coveralls, and I find myself leaning forward in anticipation. God, I truly hope they’re not naked. My girl isn’t going to be the laughingstock of all of Panem. As the last chariot exits the building, all our jaws drop.

They are not naked. They are on fire.

One hand flies to my mouth as my eyes bulge in alarm, but very quickly I see that both Katniss and Peeta look confused and nervous but wholly unharmed. So what the shit is with the fire? How the hell… the Capitol has some pretty cool technology, I know that, but that’s a new one on me. In any case, I’m grateful because Katniss looks both deadly and gorgeous. And the flickering flames contrasting the graying sky have pulled all eyes their way. Just where we want them. Capitol citizens rarely line up around the block to sponsor tributes from Twelve, but they’re already chanting the kids’ names.

“Seam rat cleans up all right, doesn't she?” remarks Adrian, pulling my eyes from the flames.

“So does the baker's kid. Bet he’d look good bent over that display counter,” drawls Rex, twitching his eyebrows and hips.

His friend slyly looks him over. “You’d rather hit that?”

Smirking roguishly, Rex cracks, “At least I wouldn't have to double bag.”

I’ve managed to mostly ignore the predictable banter up until this point, but now my eyes flare up as dangerously as the tributes’ costumes.

“Hey, asshole!” barks Darius, shoving him sideways and into Adrian, who nearly topples onto the floor. “She’s a friend of ours.” Darius is not predisposed to violence, but I’m grateful because I might have socked the fucker had he not reacted first.

A grin pulling at his lips, Rex licks them and asks, “Both of you, huh?” He wags his eyebrows again, this time in my direction. “What’d it cost?”

My entire face is now on fire, as well as my neck and ears. But I can tell he's trying to make me snap and get another one of my now legendary violent reactions, so I resist the urge. Snorting, I return my eyes to the screen with a condescending, “Oh, fuck off.” It’s the best I can manage at the moment, as my brain doesn’t seem to be firing on all cylinders.

“Katniss doesn’t do that shit,” Darius claims in her defense. “She hunts so she doesn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I'll miss her rabbits,” deflects Adrian, cementing his status as the less shitty shithead. Until he innocuously adds, “At least her boyfriend will still catch some.”

My face slowly tracks back over, my barely contained rage in ever greater danger of boiling over. Rex elbows his buddy and jerks his head at me. “Check it, Psycho’s about to blow.”

Adrian smirks but pulls up on Rex’s uniform jacket with a poorly disguised urgency. “Come on,” he says. “Let's go before you end up looking like Milo.” As they get to their feet, I shoot one more glare at the perverted little freak.

“You all right?” Darius probes as the others saunter away, laughing off the tension.

“Peachy,” I reply, staring daggers into the screen. Over several moments of blessed silence from the peanut gallery, I’m able to settle my breathing and heart rate enough to focus on the program again. The next time we spot Katniss, she has moved on from waving to the crowd with her best fake smile to blowing kisses at her admirers. It almost looks as if she’s enjoying herself. A rose comes flying her way and she catches it mid-air, gives it a sniff and then blows a kiss back in the direction in came from.

Darius chuckles disbelievingly as the crowd responds, reaching up to grab the kiss and borderline swooning over the girl. “Where the hell did she come from?”

I shake my head slowly, a smile crawling onto my face. “Katniss has always had charisma. She just never knew she did. Or how to use it.” Turning my attention to her equally stunning district partner, my face falls when I suddenly notice that they’re holding hands. Odd. District partners tend to spare each other and sometimes ally in the arena, but never really team up in terms of presentation beforehand. There’s no point pretending they’re not ultimately enemies. My frown deepens. Katniss is practical by nature, but still, she’d better not lose sight of that fact. The boy may have saved her life, but he has to die if she’s going to come home. It’s as simple and as awful as that.

“Oh, I get it!” Darius pipes up out of nowhere. “They’re hunks of coal!” My sidelong look makes him shrug sheepishly, “I was trying to figure out what it had to do with the district industry. Their stylists are clever.”

“Or insane,” I grumble, turning back to catch one last glimpse at the joined tributes before the cameras cut to another chariot again. The fake fire was a seemingly reckless choice that has clearly paid off, but now that he’s mentioned it I’m sure this hand-holding thing was the idea of some wackjob stylist. It’s not the kind of thing Katniss would think of or even agree to, but I did tell her not to argue with the stylists. My twinge of worry fades into a mild irritation and I do my best to ignore it throughout the rest of the ride. And there’s a lot to ignore, seeing as the cameras linger on District 12 more than anyone else, all but glued to their flaming costumes throughout the parade and the president’s official welcome speech once they reach the City Circle. I’m not complaining. These are the last live glimpses of Katniss I’ll see for nearly a week.

Horn of Plenty booms out of the speakers surrounding the Circle, and the cameras cut around to each pair of tributes again as some drunk Capitol idiots too close to the microphones sing along. Moments after they settle on District 12, the anthem ends, and the horses are pulling her away all too soon. The cameras hold on her and Peeta as the chariots do their final loop around the Circle, and I refuse to blink until it disappears into the Training Center, soaking up every last instant she is visible.

The coverage switches back to Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, the legendary and longstanding interview host and in-game announcer, for post-ceremony breakdown. I turn to my companion. “They sure gave them a shot.”

“It can’t hurt,” agrees Darius. “But I would’ve bet on Katniss anyway. Eaten enough of her kills.” Shaking his head, he muses, “I’d be terrified if I was in there with her.”

“Too bad they don’t know to be terrified,” I scoff. “They must see her as this tragic little martyr. Sad story, easy pickings.” Picking at a thread in the couch, I admit, “That’s what I would have thought.”

Darius offers a smile. “Well, now you know better.”

Snorting inwardly, I nod slowly. “Yeah. Now I do.”

***

The next few days, there’s nothing much to do but wait. I fall back into some old habits, mainly drinking. Two nights after the parade, I’m just starting on the road to getting wasted with some of the boys when I catch sight of Gale Hawthorne standing alone in the corner behind Greasy Sae’s stall, sullenly sipping from a mug. Drowning his sorrows, no doubt, and I somehow feel drawn to commiserate with him. He’s one of the few people feeling this loss as acutely as me, and maybe we could use each other’s support. Despite our differences, I’d like to bury the metaphorical hatchet. Like Mama Everdeen said, we’ll get through this best together.

Slinking away from my comrades, I round Greasy Sae’s stall with a friendly nod to the old woman. Gale senses my approach and lifts his face, which suddenly hardens at the sight of me. This should go well.

“You gonna contribute?” I ask, nodding at the stall behind me, where the vendor has set up a jar to collect money to sponsor the tributes. To sponsor Katniss, really - I doubt this is a yearly thing in the Hob, but she’s one of them.

“With what money?” scoffs the towering boy. Well, that’s a fair point. Way to break the ice, Mason. Such tact.

I down a glug of my drink to give myself a second to recover. Upon swallowing, I genuinely say, “Thanks for not ratting me out the other day.”

“You’re welcome, I guess. But I did that for Katniss, not for you,” he immediately specifies. “Once I realized who you were, like…” Jaw clenching, he clarifies, “Who you were to her, I knew she’d want to say goodbye.” His head tips a bit as his eyes narrow spitefully. “But you? I don’t owe you a thing, Johanna.”

“You’re right,” I snap. “I owe you, if anything. I know not being a dick is a rare kindness of yours.” Gale’s derisive chuckle gives me a second to center myself again. Tone once again serious, I backtrack, “I mean it, though. You did me a solid. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“I don’t want anything of yours,” sneers Gale. “If you wanna do me a favor, just leave Katniss the fuck alone when she gets back.”

Stepping in closer, I straighten up and look him dead in the eye. “I think you do want something that’s mine.” I lift my chin proudly. “All mine.”

With a blink and an inward scoff, my rival shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, you are,” I shoot back. “You think that girl’s gonna fall into your arms when she gets back, even if you get me taken away? Like it or not, Katniss is in love with me.”

“I realize that,” he snaps. “How you managed that is beyond me, Agent.”

Planting my free hand on my hip, I contend, “I’m not just my job, Gale.”

“You’re the enemy,” he declares resolutely, glaring down at me. That ferocity wanes as his eyes drift out into the warehouse and he muses, “If Katniss doesn’t see that, she’s not who I thought she was.”

“You know exactly who she is,” I argue. “You know her better than anyone, probably even me.” His dark scoff prompts me to step into his line of sight. “We don’t have to be enemies, Gale.”

“We already are.”

I shake my head. “You get along just fine with Darius.”

“I tolerate Darius,” he corrects me. “He’s a good customer, and decent company. Usually, anyway.” His mouth puckers as he looks me over. “Besides, it’s not just the uniform. You’ve… infected Katniss.”

For some reason, this is what sparks a real flame in my gut. What makes my stomach twist and my eyes lose focus for a second before dialing in on him again with a new hostility. Head tipping condescendingly, I purr, “You mean because I’ve been inside her?” Stroking a hand down his bicep, I sweetly assure him, “Don’t worry, Gale. I don’t have any of those diseases.”

Gale’s nostrils flare and eyes flash dangerously as his jaw and fists clench. Nabbing his wrist before he can make a move, I squeeze it in my tightest grip. “Don’t even think about it,” I growl as he winces painfully. “I may be a head shorter than you, but I could kill you with my bare hands – you have no idea.” Not relenting contact with his surprised and burning eyes, I continue, “If you want to pick fights, Gale, go ahead. But trust me, I’m somebody you want on your side.” I lift my eyebrows pointedly. “In the end, we both want the same thing: for Katniss to come home.”

“That doesn’t make us friends or even allies,” he snarls, trying to snatch his hand back. I don’t let him.

“No? We’re on the same side, are we not?” Finally, I toss his wrist away, and he immediately puts down his drink to rub the blood back into his hand. Eyes wandering to his sooty fingernails, I conclude, “Fighting among ourselves is not going to accomplish anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what the Capitol would say,” he retorts hotly. “The people who have everything are always the ones who want to maintain peace. Funny how that works.”

That renders me silent for a moment. A long moment. I’m about to leave it at that and walk away when I realize that what he said is irrelevant and downright insulting. Pursing my lips, I irritably protest, “Katniss isn’t some kind of resource to war over. She has free will.”

“She chose poorly,” Gale maintains.

“Maybe it wasn’t a choice,” I say. “Do you really think she’d choose to fall for a Peacekeeper over a handsome, loyal local boy like yourself? Someone she trusts with her life daily?” Now it’s Gale’s turn to be struck dumb. “It’s very convenient to blame me rather than admit you're mad at Katniss, isn’t it? It’s easier not to blame her when you can see her as another thing the big bad government stole from you.” Peaking my eyebrows meaningfully, I calmly state, “I know you feel betrayed, but this isn’t about you.”

As his eyes flare up, I decide to cut my losses and go before this attempt to mend fences gets any more disastrous. But to keep it from looking like a retreat, first I tell him, “You know, I thought you were handling her turning you down pretty well. That you weren’t petty.” Giving my head a patronizing shake, I turn to walk away. “Guess I was wrong.”

***

After the unpleasant company during the opening ceremonies, I opt to watch the broadcast of the training scores with the Everdeens. Admittedly, I also want to see the shock on their faces when Katniss pulls a nine or ten. Unless Haymitch was thinking along the same lines as me and suggested she hide her talents, throw her score to make her seem less of a threat. Despite my confidence in her abilities, I’m surprised to find I’m not nervous at all.

Predictably, Cato and Clove both pull tens, while the other four Careers score eight or nine. The other tributes average about a five, which is also expected, so there’s no real surprises until Caesar gets to District 11. The nine that the hulking boy scores won’t raise many eyebrows just because of his size, but conversely the tiny twelve year-old girl manages a seven. She must have some kind of secret skill to pull that off. Stealth, maybe? Expertise with some weapons similar to farming tools? Lacking any substantial knowledge about life in Eleven, I can’t even make an educated guess.

When Peeta’s face comes up on the screen, we get another surprise: the eight that comes circling around his headshot. No offense to the guy, Peeta’s got some bulk, but I can’t imagine he had any special talents to showcase. Except for maybe diplomacy, or cake decorating. Then it’s Katniss’s turn, and they’re leaning in as her hologrammed headshot stares off into the distance. I follow suit, a hollow feeling gnawing at my gut.

“From District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen,” Caesar draws out suspensefully. “With a score of… eleven.”

“What?” gasps Prim, jumping to her feet and staring as though it can’t possibly be real. She turns to me, jaw at her feet. “That’s unbelievable.”

Raising an eyebrow, I drawl, “Did you really doubt your big sister? Or me?” Prim’s eyes squint, focusing curiously on me as she shakes her head. Forcing a smile, I lift my hand to offer her a high five, which she accepts eagerly. “We’re not out of it yet, kiddo.”

“What do you mean, ‘or you’?” asks her mother, eyeing me up suspiciously.

“Um…” Pulling my hand back, I squirm in my chair. “I taught Katniss a bit before she left. In case she got reaped.” The woman’s eyebrows lift but she remains silent, and I awkwardly continue, “I’m from Two, right, so I know some weapons and stuff.”

“I suppose you would,” she replies, looking me over. “It’s nice one of _our_ tributes got some preemptive training for once.”

I narrow my eyes, perplexed by her neutral tone. Is she thanking me, or is she taking a dig at my upbringing? Never the matter, my answer is the same either way. “You’re welcome,” I reply coolly. As I return my eyes to the screen, where each district pair is flashing up briefly with their training scores and betting odds as of this afternoon, I think I hear her chuckle.

***

The day before the Games are due to start, Purnia summons me to the briefing room as I’m gearing down after shift. Once I’ve hung my remaining armor and locked up my gun, I begrudgingly obey. Sleep will be hard to come by tonight, and I want to attempt a nap before the interviews air.

My CO is standing at the desk and making some notes on her shift report when I join her. Hearing my footsteps, she looks up from the desk and nods in greeting. “Agent.”

So this is a professional talk, not a personal one. I’m bad at professional. Cocking my head, I reply with a sly but deadpan, “Captain.”

The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, but otherwise she doesn’t react. “I called you in here to inform you that you’ll be stationed in the Square for the duration of your… involvement in these Games,” she says, her tone turning cautious after that split second to calculate her phrasing.

This is a massive relief, but I’m also bad at expressing gratitude to superiors. Not to mention, I just love getting on Purnia’s nerves. “So much for not running your shift around my love life,” I quip, tilting my head.

Purnia’s lips set in a firm line. “It’s not to cater to you, Mason. I know you. You’d be useless anywhere else, too worried to function if you’re unable to watch.”

Suddenly back on my heels, I retort, “Well, glad you have so much faith in me.”

“I do,” she snaps. “You’ll still be expected to keep eyes on the crowd and intervene if necessary, not become one of the crowd. To take anything you see in stride and maintain your professionalism,” she continues, her tone cold and steady. “Think you can handle that?”

Not really, but what choice do I have? At least I’m a good actor. “I’ll try my best, ma’am,” I answer stiffly. A slight waver in her expression gives away her concern as her eyes sweep me from head to toe. She’s worried about me. Well good for fucking her.

“I can’t give you any official bereavement leave for this kind of thing,” she says, voice softening, “but if Katniss and Clove are both eliminated, I’ll reassign you so you can get away.”

Cool, I really wanted to think about the only two people I’ve ever been in love with dying. That’s not going to give me a panic attack or anything. So much for that nap. Nice euphemism, by the way. Very tactful. Halting my rambling, spiteful inner dialogue, I cross my arms and drill into her with my eyes. “So Cray told you about Clove too, huh?”

“Yes, he did,” she replies plainly.

“Fucking excellent,” I steam. “You people just can’t stay out of my life, can you?”

“You’re welcome, Mason,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes warningly. “Don’t push it.”

“Don’t push what?” I scoff, losing control of my pitch and volume. “Your generosity of giving me a front row seat to my girlfriend’s murder? Thanks, Purnia, you’re such a fucking star. Maybe you can get me to dig her grave, too. You know, if you don’t think it’ll upset me so much that I’ll be unable to function afterwards. Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

“Get a hold of yourself, Agent,” she commands me sternly. Her use of the honorific only infuriates me further. Coming around the desk to close our distance, she holds my gaze intently. “Look, I am sorry that this happened to you, but that’s not an excuse to lash out at the people who care about you. I have put up with a lot of shit from you, Mason, but I’m not going to tolerate you behaving like a little brat and abusing my kindness because your poor choices backfired.” My eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t back down, only changes her angle. “There are consequences for things. I warned you that you were going to get hurt, but you didn’t listen. You never do.”

“Oh, like I’m going to take relationship advice from the ice queen,” I sneer derisively. “From the woman who chooses money over love.” My eyes narrow, honing in on my target. “Tell me, Purnia, did you feel anything at all when you left Jason behind for a bigger paycheck?”

There’s no time to flinch or even blink before her palm smacks my cheek with such stinging force that my chin hits my opposite shoulder and tears fly onto my cheeks on impact. Eyes wide as saucers, I slowly turn my head back around and find her features as hard and unforgiving as ever. Add scared and turned on to the list of emotions suddenly vying for my attention.

“You will not cross that line again, do you understand me?” she seethes, harshly pointing a finger in my face. “Do you under-”

A loud sob cuts her off mid-sentence as I suddenly burst into tears. Before they completely flood my vision, I get a glimpse of her staring at me in disbelief. My eyes screw shut against the salty sting while my face crumples as helplessly as my emotional state under the weight of this. Within moments, I hear her muttering obscenities under her breath as I fail to stem the wave of chest-wracking cries. Then feel a cautious hand on my shoulder. “Mason…”

Swatting it away, I choke out, “Don’t... touch me.” My breathing all the more labored, I double over to rest my hands on my knees, supporting my upper body as it continues to shake.

“Breathe,” Purnia articulates calmly, stooping a little. “Breathe, Johanna.” Her hand makes hesitant contact with my back, but I don’t knock it away this time. I’ve lost the strength. Slowly, she begins rubbing it up and down my back, repeating her instructions. “Breathe. Just breathe. Deep one in.” I shakily manage that much. “And out. Good. Good girl. And again.”

This carries on for several minutes while I struggle to regain control of myself. I have to fight through a few relapses as reality hits me anew in waves. Eventually either I actually calm myself down or just cry myself out, and I’m left panting, blinking heavy lashes against sticky cheeks. The hand on my back doesn’t stop its soothing motion, and my eyes fall shut with a long sigh. When they open again, they find Purnia peering into them with that familiar concern, but I’ve lost the energy for indignation.

Purnia scoops her hands under my arms and slowly reels me into her chest, giving me time to protest. I don’t. I just let myself fall against her, chin resting on her shoulder and arms hanging limply over hers. Her breath catches a couple times as she opens her mouth to speak, but she must think better of it. There are no true words of comfort she can speak, and Purnia’s no bullshitter. She won’t promise that things will be okay, and truth be told I love that about her. What she does do is start to hum. The tune makes my eyes flutter with recognition, though I can’t place it for a moment. Just as both her hands resume the comforting trail up and down my back, I remember. It’s a lullaby from back home. I don’t recall the words, only my mother rocking me to sleep after one of my many nightmares. My trembling arms lift and encircle her shoulders of their own accord, a new reserve of tears streaming from my eyes.

When they run dry again, I snuffle and unconsciously wipe them on her shirt, and she pulls back and looks me over. Her hands come up to frame my face, thumbs brushing the tears from my cheekbones. After a slight pause, her right thumb runs soothingly over my burning cheek. “Sorry.”

For some reason, her apology causes a chuckle to burst from my aching throat. “You did warn me about that.” Snuffling again, I wipe my nose with my palm. “But I don’t listen.”

Purnia nods, eyeing me up for a long moment. “Are you going to sit out sick tomorrow?”

“Probably not. At least not until it starts. It’s better being busy.” Drying my eyes with the cuffs of my uniform jacket, I mutter, “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean that. I was upset.”

“You aim to kill,” observes Purnia. I nod. “If only you were in there with her.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “If only.”

I barely make it to my bed before passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter for a while because I'm taking a break from other projects to complete Lifeblood. It's been a WIP for some 20 months and it's time I finished it. Thanks for your patience.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for all her help, as always.


	17. Helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, everyone! The Games finally begin.

Despite my nap earlier, my shoulders and eyelids droop as I exit the town that evening. A large paper bag swinging from my side, I stare at the dirt road, dragging my feet northwest. My breakdown in Purnia’s arms provided a little emotional relief, but it was short lived. As if the prospect of watching the tribute interviews hadn’t already turned my mood abysmal, I just visited the bakery to fulfill a request from Prim. I hadn’t considered beforehand the shroud of sadness I’d be entering, my own emotions I’d see reflected in the old man’s eyes. Grief. Fear. Helplessness.

Though there’s no concrete plan, I suppose after dinner I’ll watch the interviews with Katniss’s family, hopefully without any more casually derisive comments thrown my way. In any case, watching with the Everdeens is probably better than watching with a bunch of Peacekeepers again and hearing them make offhand remarks about my girlfriend’s cleavage or her lack of personality. And after today, I’m definitely not going to the Commune. Undoubtedly a lot of my shiftmates heard me yelling and/or crying in the briefing room after shift, and I have too much pride to show my face so soon.

Resigned to what should be a painful and sleepless night ahead, I continue trudging along the road, past the school. With my eyes all but glued to the path, it’s a wonder I even notice the body slumped against the wheel of an abandoned wagon.

Stopping dead in my tracks, I focus my suddenly alert eyes on the form. A young girl, maybe nine years old. Scrawny, unmoving, deathly pale. My dry tongue flits over my lips. I've never had to participate in a body retrieval, but I've heard the stories. Cold bodies found lying in fields, or under trees, or in their own beds. The impoverished mining class are among the most common victims, and her lousy excuse for clothing pegs her as a Seam kid.

Warily I approach the girl, not wanting to spook her if she is indeed alive and conscious. She doesn’t stir even as I crouch down beside her, laying the bag on the ground. “Hey, kid,” I call quietly to her, waving my hand in front of her face. “Can you hear me?” There’s a slight movement behind her eyelids, but that’s all. Still, it’s no small relief. Gently I shake her shoulder, willing my voice to stay steady as my stomach turns inside of me. “Can you hear me?”

Gray eyes squeak open with a groan, struggling to focus on my face. When they do, they blink hard in confusion. That quickly turns to fear as they settle on my white clothing. “Hey,” I offer softly, “I’m not going to hurt you. Are you okay?” The girl drops her gaze with a weak nod that I don’t believe for one second. I’m not sure what she thinks I’m going to do to her. “Look, I’m a medic,” I inform her. Hoping that will garner some more trust, I follow it up with an earnest, “Let me help.”

With a familiar half ass eye roll that causes a resounding pang in my gut, she drops her chin in an even slighter nod than before. Gulping hard, I reach for her hand and have almost grasped it before I remember my training and my manners. “My name’s Johanna. Is it okay if I touch you?” I inquire. “Just to see how you’re doing.”

“Sure,” she barely mumbles, eyes falling closed.

“Can you tell me your name?” I ask. She doesn’t respond to that, so I take her hand with no further questions. Upon closer inspection, it’s evident that the pallor of her skin, only a shade or two darker than mine, is not solely from poor health. She’s probably of mixed blood, like a couple other kids I know. Swallowing that thought, I lay two fingers over her wrist in what turns out to be a frustrating search for her pulse. I give up in a matter of moments and reach for her neck, which makes the otherwise lethargic girl flinch, eyes flying open. “I’m just checking your heartbeat,” I assure her calmly. God, you’d think I’d pointed a gun at her head. I’ve only done that to one person in my career.

Clenching my jaw, I will myself to focus through the pain spreading upward into my chest. When I place my fingers on the kid’s neck, the coolness of her skin makes my hair stand on end. Her pulse is weak and readily interrupted by the pressure of my fingers. Drawing my hand back, I look her over. She could easily be the next body to retrieve. The official word is that the poorer people are more susceptible to disease, leading to the disproportionate early deaths. No one says it, but I suspect the underlying cause is often starvation. Slowly reaching down into the paper bag, I ask her, “Have you eaten?”

She manages a dry swallow, one eye peeking open. “Today?”

“This week?” I try, wishing I was joking. The girl’s pause as she thinks that over is telling enough. “Here,” I say, withdrawing one of the dozen croissants I’m carrying for Prim. Gray eyes pop open, jumping from the pastry to me and back again. “It’s okay. Go on, take it.”

As though I may change my mind at any moment, she swipes it from my grasp and clutches it to her chest. But though she stares at the food like it’s life itself and she’s all but salivating, she hesitates to put it in her mouth. “I swear, it’s not poisoned.” The kid rolls her eyes again with a tiny snort, once again all too familiar, and suddenly I get it. “You have others at home.”

Eyes now darting up to mine, the girl squints at me curiously. “Tell you what,” I begin, lifting the bag, “I’ll give you all of these as soon as I see you eat that.”

For a brief moment the girl’s expression smacks of irritation, until an opportunistic smirk spreads across her face and she shoves one end deep in her mouth. In less than ten seconds, she’s devoured the entire thing. Either she doesn’t know the strategy of eating slowly to feel fuller or she’s too hungry to care. I suspect the latter. “Maybe one more?” I suggest, offering her another. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” I wink. This time, there’s no argument. And she’s able to pace herself a little, which I take as a good sign.

Once the girl is licking stray flakes off her grubby fingers, I get to my feet and offer her a hand. “Can you stand?” Ignoring my hand, she instead proves that she can, using the rotting spokes of the wheel to pull herself up. I know better than to take this personally by now. The next time I extend my hand, it’s gripping the bag. “A promise is a promise,” I say, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me that I promised this same package to Prim. Nodding with an inscrutable expression, the new recipient snatches the bag and hustles with surprising vigor to the northeast, in the general direction of the mines.

As she disappears, I turn my head back in the direction of the town. I’m already late for dinner and don’t have time to wait around for another order. Perhaps enough time to buy however few croissants are left in the display case, but to be honest I don’t want to go back there and be reminded of my grief yet again. Not that where I'm going is much better. 

When I walk in the door, into a room smelling of rabbit stew, Prim’s eyes light up and she jumps to her feet. It’s not until she’s withdrawing from crushing me in a hug that her face falls. “You forgot dessert.”

“Primrose Everdeen,” her mother chides warningly from the stove. “Mind your manners.”

“Sorry,” mutters the young blonde, ducking her flushing face.

“No, I’m sorry,” I deflect. Catching Prim’s eye, I explain, “I didn’t forget. I just… someone else needed them more.”

The disappointed expression melts somewhat as she nods sagely. “Okay,” she says. “I understand.”

Lifting my guilty eyes to her mother, who I’m more concerned about disappointing, I find her watching me closely. “It’s all right,” the woman assures me. “We’ve been there.” Nodding at the table, she instructs us, “Dinner’s ready. Have a seat.”

***

“Well… that complicates things.”

Mrs. Everdeen’s understated words barely reach my ears through the din of commentators gushing in those horrible Capitol accents. My eyes blink hard as they stare at the battered old TV that sits on the table against the wall, trying to digest what we just watched.

“I thought she was about to punch him, “ Prim remarks a little too casually. I pretend not to feel her gaze on me. However, she’s not wrong. Katniss managed to keep her usual hostility mostly under wraps during her interview, a minor miracle. But by the time her traitorous district partner returned to his place on stage after his interview and stood beside her for the anthem, her fingers were twitching, curling in and out of fists as the blush in her cheeks deepened into a rageful red. The squeaky mice on the TV are chalking her reaction up to shyness and nerves, but they don’t know her like we do. So far as I could tell, Katniss was fucking humiliated and on the verge of throttling Peeta in front of the entire nation.

“Maybe he made it up,” suggests Mrs. Everdeen. “To win favor with the crowd.”

“I don’t think so,” I mumble. The blondes relax their posture in unison as I finally speak and glance their way. “When I went to order that cake for Prim, he knew who she was and asked me how I knew Katniss. He went white as a sheet when I said I’d arrested her a few times.”

“You’ve arrested her?” questions Prim, blue eyes going wide.

“Not the point,” I say, waving her off. “I wanted to get a reaction and I got a huge one. He didn’t make that sh-stuff up. He has a thing for her.” Returning my attention to the TV, my conflicted thoughts are halfway drowned out by the excited chatter. Peeta’s love confession has got them talking, that’s for sure. It’s a first. My fingers press into and massage my temples as I try to grasp how I feel about all this. What Peeta said was brilliant as a strategy, which I can always admire on an objective level. And it’s possible that it will give Katniss an edge too. But I hate him for it, if for no other reason than Katniss’s obvious surprise. I should have known that sweet-talking little son of a bitch was not trustworthy. Salesmen rarely are.

“What happens now?” asks Prim in a hushed tone.

Pinching my brow, I sigh heavily as I try to work the scenarios through. After a long moment of thought, I conclude, “She’ll have to play along. If she doesn’t, she’ll be a pariah. People will want the ‘nice guy’ to win, not the heartbreaker.”

“Because it was so very nice of him to spring that on her,” deadpans her mother.

I scoff in agreement but nod at the reveling crowds dispersing from the Circle as the commentators continue to blather on about the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve. “They don’t see it that way.” My eyes roll of their own accord. “It’s all very romantic to them.” These people are truly fucking stupid. Katniss and Peeta aren’t the real star-crossed lovers of District Twelve.

My head is still spinning as I trek home through the fading twilight. Peeta’s bombshell aside, I’m puzzled as to what angle Katniss was going for in her interview, what part she intends to play in these Games. I assume Haymitch must have given her some advice on how to present herself, despite him being the least presentable mentor in all the districts. The last thing I ever thought I’d see the typically taciturn hunter do was gush about her dress and start spinning to show it off, and I don’t see how that would help her in the arena unless it was part of some kind of bullshit grateful act they came up with. And I can’t imagine that will hold up long in the arena. In any case, it’s all for naught now. Peeta’s portrayal of her has completely overridden anything she said or did. I can only imagine how pissed off Katniss must be now, with whatever narrative she was trying to craft undercut by that opportunistic blond kid.

I’ve barely sunken down into a slouch on my bed before a knock echoes from my door. Looking up from rubbing my eyes, I sigh and get up to open the door. It’s Darius, surprise surprise. Dark eyes sweeping over me warily, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I shrug, ambling into the room. When I look back, he’s still loitering in my doorway. Well, at least now he’s well trained. “You can come in, Darius,” I say, nodding my head into the room. My blank tone does little to reassure him, but he comes in anyway, closing the door behind him. He sits on the edge of my bed while I prop my pillow up and lean back against the headboard, drawing my knees up to my chest. “What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Of the ‘star-crossed lovers,’” I drawl, an acerbic smirk pushing its way onto my lips.

“I think Peeta’s probably getting his ass kicked,” comes Darius’s flat response.

Chuckling, I nod curtly. “That makes two of us.” Fingers toying with the bedspread, I remark, “I hope he dies early so Katniss can give up the act.”

“You don’t think she’s going to go along with it, do you?”

My head tips to the side. “What else is she gonna do? What’s gonna win her the most sponsors?”

Eyes falling to the floor, Darius concedes, “True.”

“Katniss doesn’t need anyone besides herself to worry about in there. If they team up and he drags her down-” I cut myself off with a sharp headshake. “She needs to worry about staying alive, not playing some stupid romance.”

“Well like you said, it will get her sponsors,” Darius points out. “Maybe this will end up helping her.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But only if she acts receptive. It helps him a lot more than her. Gets him sponsors either way, and if she teams up with him, a master archer to guard his sorry ass.”

The redhead gives me a droll smile. “I gather you’re not his biggest fan.”

“He was fine before that,” I protest. “He seems like a nice enough kid. But he’s a distraction. And if he gets my girlfriend killed, then obviously no, I’m not a fan.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Darius asks, “What about Clove?”

I bristle, my tone icing over. “What about her?”

“Do you think she’ll be a distraction?” he specifies cautiously.

“She better not,” I snap. “I told Katniss to stay the fuck away from her. She’s dangerous.”

Darius gives his head a little shake. “She didn’t seem very dangerous in the interview.”

“Well I didn’t think she was dangerous either until she sold me down the river,” I spit. “That’s her strategy, Darius. Use her adorable act to land a few sponsors and position herself as the kid sister of the Career pack. Enjoy their protection and use their resources, then stab them in the back when it suits her. It’s what she does.” With a snort, I admit, “I almost feel bad for Cato.”

“Well if Clove takes Cato out, that can only be good for Katniss,” muses Darius.

“Clove fares better than Cato against range fighters,” I argue, shaking my head. “But I warned Katniss about that.” My heel digs deep into the mattress as I glower down at the bed. “The really dangerous one is Peeta. Apparently he saved Katniss’s life or something, so she feels indebted to him.”

“It’s the Hunger Games,” scoffs Darius. “All bets are off.”

“Yeah, you don’t know Katniss that well,” I chuckle derisively. “She can’t standing owing anybody anything. Not even me.”

A moment of silence passes before he offers, “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble, gaze on the blankets again. “Watching Clove in there in my place would have been hard enough.” Eventually I flick my eyes up to catch his attentive ones. “Just be around, honestly. I don’t know what I’ll need.”

“Okay,” he says, shifting his weight to get up. But he pauses halfway through the movement and probes, “Is everything okay with you and Purnia, or…?”

“Don’t even ask,” I interject. “It’s fine. Emotions were running high. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” he answers, though his expression still betrays some confusion. “Okay. Goodnight, Jo.”

“Doubt it,” I mutter as he disappears into the hall.

***

Though the Games don’t start until noon our time, we have six Peacekeepers patrolling the Square by ten o’clock the next morning. Athena is among the three reinforcements added at that time, and she settles down beside me on the steps of the Justice Building.

“You all right?” she asks, eyes somewhere across the Square.

“Peachy, Vargas,” I chirp. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Rolling her eyes, she tips her head drolly. “Johanna.”

“You said you know nothing,” I remind her.

“As in I don’t know you’ve been committing a crime, sneaking civilians in and out of the barracks,” she specifies. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know who, or haven’t noticed how down you’ve been this week.”

“Oh yeah?” I retort. “You and Tory been exchanging theories? Maybe Darius hit me again. Better tell Cray, start another shitstorm.”

“Whoa, okay.” She lifts her hands innocently, eyebrows flying up. “Did you skip your coffee this morning, or are you on your period?”

“Both,” I grouse. Jittery as I am, I figured caffeine would be a poor choice this morning. Athena blinks. “I know, you were joking.”

My neighbor furrows her brow, speaks carefully after a long moment. “I can cover for you if you need it.”

“Purnia basically said I could leave at noon if I needed to,” I tell her. “But I’d rather be here than watching in the Commune.” I could always go watch with the Everdeens, as Prim was planning to stay home sick today, but I’m not sure I could stand to be there if Katniss goes down early. Being in a large crowd is numbing, somehow. Being surrounded by all that acute pain could be unbearable. And it’s not like I can bring myself to not watch. Purnia was right - I’d go crazy not knowing what was happening. I’m already on the brink just from waiting.

The next two hours drag by painfully slow, but at least the pre-Games coverage projected on the large screen gives me something to do. There’s a bit where a panel discussing the tributes has a debate about what Katniss’s secret skill may be, the general consensus being a pickaxe. At least that allows me a moment of amusement. I’m unable to eat my field lunch, but my empty stomach gurgles with nerves more than hunger. More than once I have to duck into a shop and request to use their bathroom so I don’t shit myself, but I avoid the bakery.

The Square is decently populated and buzzing with tension by the time the countdown clock in the corner of the screen drops below ten minutes. It’s a Tuesday, but miners working the late shift can make it, plus the ranks of the unemployed. Many shopkeepers are watching from their doorways, too.

Spotting Greasy Sae in the still-growing crowd, I wander a short way from my post to sidle up to her. “How’s your collection coming?”

The old woman looks me up and down. “We’re not a wealthy bunch. Maybe enough to send down a half pint of water, or a couple matches.” Paltry. Terrific. “Have you considered chipping in?”

“Peacekeepers aren’t allowed to sponsor or bet,” I inform her. “We’re supposed to be impartial, have no vested interests.” As usual, I’m a model Peacekeeper. In my defense, I know lots of us bet among ourselves despite being barred from the official proceedings, but I doubt there’s ever been a tribute with a Peacekeeper lover before. What are the odds?

“How’s the government going to know where our cash came from?” teases Greasy Sae, nudging my side with a bony elbow. While that’s true, the main reason why I haven’t contributed to the Hob fund is to avoid raising eyebrows by seeming too invested in Katniss’s survival. I don’t want to make life difficult for her upon her return. Then again, if she does come back, it’s not like she’ll need buyers to survive. A soiled reputation is still no fun, however.

“Count me in,” I acquiesce. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

The merchant zips her lips. “Nothing to tell, Agent Mason.” But the glint in her eye suggests she doesn’t really believe that. Narrowing my eyes warningly, I retreat to the edge of the Square, leaning back against a storefront. The clock says we’re down to under five minutes. Whatever remains of my breakfast begs to come back up and decorate the cobblestones, but I stubbornly hold it down. I won’t be that Peacekeeper who hurls at every major event.

With just over a minute to go, aerial shots overhead catch the first glimpses of the tributes being pushed up out of their vertical tubes onto the pedestals circling the brimming Cornucopia. It’s on a barren plain, half surrounded by forest. Also ringing the clearing are a lake and an expansive field of tall grasses. Just as the plates lock into place beneath the tributes’ feet, Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms overhead. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

The next sixty seconds are some of the longest in my life, despite each one being counted down for me by the Capitol crowds and a voiceover in the broadcast. The tributes, in contrast, have to count down in their heads, besides using that time to take in their surroundings and form a strategy. When I spot Katniss, she is looking straight into the circle with determination. She’s going to go for it. I figure out why when I see the silver bow and sheath of arrows lying atop some blanket rolls near the mouth of the Cornucopia. It’s lying right in her path, which tells me that even if she showed off a variety of combat skills to the Gamemakers, her marksmanship is what got their attention. Go figure.

Even if the bow wasn’t arguably closer to Katniss than anyone else, she’d still make it first with her legs. So despite the close combat scenario that is the bloodbath, I’m feeling slightly relieved as the last few seconds run off the clock. But when the gong rings out, my girlfriend is standing frozen on her plate, eyes elsewhere. As the others sprint toward or away from the pile of treasure, she shuffles her feet uncertainly, looking completely thrown.

“What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath. “Move!”

Finally, Katniss steps off her pedestal, grabs a sheet of plastic at her feet, and scoops up a loaf of bread. Sprinting into the fray, she goes for a dangerously bright orange backpack about halfway to the horn. But a boy reaches it at the same instant as her, and they briefly scuffle over it. It’s only because I’ve also got an eye on Clove that I notice her turning to the pair of tributes with a handful of knives. _Shit._ Katniss has dropped the bread and just landed a jarring punch to the boy’s jaw when the first knife hits his back and he coughs blood right into her face. She looks somewhat confused and completely repulsed for a second until he falls to the ground and she realizes it was not her blow that did the damage. Her eyes grow wide as she takes in Clove running straight at her, and for a second I’m terrified that Katniss is going to rush her and try to take her down. But either her survival instincts kick in or she remembers my commands, and she turns and sprints for the forest as fast as she can.

Clove is no match for Katniss’s speed, but she’s deadly accurate when accounting for changing distances. She releases a knife mid step at precisely the right moment, and for an instant I’m reliving my nightmare from the night before the reaping, once again watching helplessly as Clove’s knife sticks in the back of Katniss’s head. But on the screen, Katniss hikes the pack she’s slung over her shoulder up to protect her head and neck. The knife lodges in the bag and she runs away unscathed.

Releasing a woozy sigh, I return my attention to the bloodbath, watching as a now frustrated Clove takes down another girl as consolation. The enigmatic tribute who scored an eleven would have been a more notable kill, and Clove does love her bragging rights. Peeta Mellark, meanwhile, is on the ground, exchanging punches with a boy who blocked his way to a rack of spears. He manages to throw the smaller body away from him and gets to his feet, grabbing a weapon. He appears set to run when something else catches his eye: the girl from Four pinned against the Cornucopia by another kid. She also has a spear, but it’s useless in so tight and this boy has a knife.

In yet another befuddling move, Peeta lunges at the knife-wielding boy and attempts to wrestle him off of the dark-haired girl. His arm gets cut in the process, but he pushes the kid a short distance away and then whacks him across the head with the butt end of his spear. He turns to the girl, who’s staring dumbfoundedly, and nods at the dazed kid on the ground. Her kill. I’m not sure if this is a gesture of goodwill or if the baker can’t stomach the thought of stabbing somebody, but in any case it’s no problem for the girl, who promptly pounces on the fallen boy and slashes his throat with his own knife before tucking it in her belt.

My eyes are only pulled away from this surprising development by a shot of Katniss crashing into another tribute just inside the forest. It’s the red-headed girl from District 5. They land hard on the ground and eye each other up for a moment before coming to an unspoken agreement and scampering in opposite directions. In another shot, the boy from Eleven cuts down the boy from Four when he attempts to block his escape. He doesn’t stick around to finish the kid off, but a nearby girl jumps on the injured boy and takes his life as well as his pack. She doesn’t make it more than two steps before another of Clove’s knives lodges in her neck.

Peeta and the girl from Four continue to fight side-by-side until their side of the Cornucopia is deserted, then circle around to the mouth, where the action is also mostly over. The split screens consolidate as the Careers converge around the blonde girl out of One, who’s putting some finishing slices into a kid pinned beneath her. Cato is lagging behind the others, dragging a tiny boy by the scruff of his neck. Catching Clove’s eye, the girl in front of Peeta asks, “Where’s Nerites?”

“Dead,” answers Clove. “He tried to get in the way of that huge boy from Eleven.” Her eyes have narrowed at Peeta, and the girl holds up a hand.

“He’s with me,” she explains. “He saved me.”

“How gallant,” remarks the boy I now know as Marvel, who looks a lot less goofy splattered in the blood of his victims. Two so far, according to the kill count running in the corner of the screen. “Something about brunettes?” he mocks Peeta. Turning to Cato, who’s just joining the circle, he nods at the kid in his grasp. “What’s with the dead weight?”

“He said he’d guard our camp if we let him live,” grunts Cato.

“Does he think we’re fucking stupid?” snaps Clove. “He’ll take our shit the second we clear out to hunt.”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” says Cato. Then his eyes settle on Peeta, still standing there behind the brunette. “Why is he still alive?”

“He seems to have endeared himself to Melissa,” sneers Clove, rolling her eyes.

“He pulled a guy off me, assisted my first kill,” the girl retorts. “We’re one down, we might as well keep him.”

Standing up beside Cato, the final Career nods her assent. “He did score an eight,” concurs Glimmer. “He’s strong. He could be of use.”

Smirking, Cato shoves the smaller boy into her grasp and stalks toward Peeta, cocking his head. “You wanna come play with the big kids, Lover Boy?” He nods at Melissa. “Is that why you helped her?”

“Yes,” Peeta answers matter-of-factly.

Cato chuckles derisively. “Why shouldn’t we just kill you?”

“I have something to offer,” replies Peeta. At the pack’s incredulous looks, he delivers his most shocking words yet. “I can help you take down Katniss.”

***

No one knows what to make of Peeta’s latest aboutface, least of all me. The surprising betrayal dominates the broadcast discourse as the first day rolls on and comes to a close. Some commentators believe he was telling the truth when pressed for an explanation by the Careers, when he shrugged and said they couldn’t both go home and he wanted stronger allies. Others remain certain that he is protecting Katniss and intending to mislead the Careers.

There are eleven faces in the sky tonight, all deaths during the bloodbath. On the TV broadcast we get to see the footage of each death as well as the faces, though how quickly they have to move through the fallen tributes doesn’t allow much time for each. The anthem is only so long. I’m just about to turn in at this point, satisfied that Katniss is safely up a tree, when the shot switches to Caesar and Claudius at their broadcast desk, the feed playing behind them. “And now,” announces Caesar, “we welcome a very special guest commentator to join us in studio. Your victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, Scarlett Caskey!”

Scar isn’t mentoring this year and I saw only glimpses of her throughout the week leading up to the Games. Either she’s been busy with Capitol functions or trying to keep a low profile. I tell myself it’s mere curiosity that roots me to the couch.

The muscular victor steps onto the set, wearing high heels that only accentuate her height. Her dress is beautiful, her gait graceful, but there’s a striking hollowness in her heavily made up hazel eyes that makes me lean forward, squinting. “Welcome, dear. You look lovely,” Caesar greets her as they shake hands.

“Thank you, Caesar,” she replies with a practiced smile, settling in her seat between the two men. “It’s great to be back.”

They banter a short time, discussing how the latest victor has been since the Victory Tour, before returning to the present. “Now, Scarlett,” begins Claudius, “what’s your take on all this malarkey?”

Scar gives Claudius an indulgent laugh and pats his hand on the desk while I roll my eyes at the terrible pun. “I believe Peeta meant what he said, about his crush on Katniss. And he hasn’t given up any information so far, so I’m starting to think he’s bluffing,” she reasons. “He might know nothing at all about where she would go or what her strengths are. He said she never noticed him back home, so they can’t know each other that well.”

“Very astute, Scarlett,” remarks Caesar. Her comments do allow me a measure of relief. Though I’m sure Peeta knows what Katniss’s signature weapon is, since his father is a frequent buyer, he hasn’t told them yet. While he could be withholding information to preserve his own life, he doesn’t seem very interested in leading the Careers to her either. Then again, as Scar said, he might not even have known that Katniss would take to the woods and seek high ground. He’s such a slippery little weasel that I’m reserving judgment as to his motives, for now.

“As the first day comes to an end, your successor is in the lead in the kill count,” says Claudius. “Three, almost four were it not for Katniss Everdeen’s quick reflexes. How do you feel about the possibility of a District 2 female winning two years in a row?”

My stomach clenches angrily at the question, and I see Scar’s face contort a little as she considers her response. My only consolation is knowing that she’s probably thinking their chances were much better with me. That is, after all, what she said to me all those months ago. “I think it would be wonderful for the district,” she finally answers. “And for the women of Panem.” Turning to the camera, she grins and pumps her fist. “Girl power!”

Caesar laughs in that way he does and pats her arm, calling her attention back. “Clove Kentwell is much smaller than you, a very different style of fighter. Do you think she’ll stand a chance against the larger tributes in her alliance when it ultimately needs to break?”

“Absolutely,” states Scarlett. “In fact, I would bet on her dissolving the alliance herself, firing the first shots so to speak. I may not be her mentor, but we’ve met on multiple occasions. Don’t underestimate her because of her youth and size. She’s not afraid to take down anyone to win.”

“Fearless, just like you,” remarks Claudius. Scar barely swallows a grimace at that, giving a polite nod instead.

Unable to stomach any more talk about Clove, I retreat to my room. With my luck, I’ve probably got weeks more of hearing about her ahead.

But when morning rolls around, it’s Peeta who’s at center stage again when he goes back to finish off a kill for the pack. I’m starting to wonder if he has actually transformed into a cold-blooded killer as well as a traitor when he kneels down beside the fire the victim had stupidly lit. Looking her in the eye, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m here to end this for you.” Then he takes her hand and buries his knife in the side of her head. Gruesome, but merciful.

In a twist both hilarious and terrifying, the rest of the pack is standing practically right underneath Katniss’s tree and discussing whether or not they should kill Peeta while this is going on. She’s so quiet I’d think maybe she slept through it, except she almost fell out of the tree at the sound of Peeta’s voice.

“Why don’t we just kill him now and get it over with?” grumbles Marvel.

“Let him tag along,” says Cato, who’s clearly established himself as the leader of the group. “What’s the harm? And he’s handy with that knife. Besides, he’s our best chance of finding her.”

“Why?” scoffs Glimmer. “You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?”

“She might have,” argues Clove. “Seemed pretty simple minded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke.”

“Wish we knew how she got that eleven,” mutters Melissa.

“Bet you Lover Boy knows,” says Clove.

As Peeta return to the group, Cato calls, “Was she dead?”

“No. But she is now.” The cannon fires, and Peeta lifts his eyebrows impatiently. “Ready to move on?” It’s almost like he knows Katniss is up there and wants to steer them away. Because after that mercy kill, I’m inclined to believe he has good intentions after all.

When Katniss drops out of the tree, I’m even more confused, because she has this smug look on her face that suggests maybe she’s in on Peeta’s plan. But it could just be a knowing smirk because she overheard everything. I don’t even know. In any case, she sets about her business like she’s completely unfazed, checking her snares from yesterday and cooking up a rabbit on the dead girl’s fire, camouflaging her bright bag with some charcoal. 

She spends that day and the next scouring the woods for signs of water, but consistently coming up empty. By the afternoon of the third day, she’s nearing a pond, but I fear she’ll keel over from dehydration before she can make it. Haymitch is no help, probably passed out drunk somewhere. If no one else, the Hobsters had enough money to send down a bit of water, but the disgraceful excuse for a mentor appears to be AWOL, allowing no gifts through.

Meanwhile, Peeta and the Careers have also failed in their continued search for prey, and have returned to the lake to top up their own water supplies. Apparently not everyone shares my renewed good faith in Peeta, because the bakery has been remarkably deserted since he joined the alliance. I’m not sure if it’s sympathy or the sense of forced camaraderie that leads me back to that sad place.

I buy a cheese bun, not because they’re my favorite, but because it’s something to cling to. As I’m handing over the money, I remark, “Been a little slow lately, huh?” The baker says nothing but squints as though to ascertain my intentions. “What the hell is your kid doing?”

“Not sure,” admits the large man. “Peeta never expected to come back. My guess is he’s trying to keep the pack off the girl’s trail. Better for the district if she wins.”

“He wasn’t lying in the interview, was he?”

The baker blinks hard. “I can’t be certain. Peeta isn’t always so forthcoming.” When I fail to respond, he lifts an eyebrow. “Can I get you anything else, Agent?”

“No,” I answer, shaking my head. “Thanks.”

I’m almost out the door when he speaks again. “You’re friends with her family, aren’t you?” At my perplexed stare, he asks, “Wasn’t it you who bought that cake for the little girl?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “That was me.”

The man twitches his mouth with what might be a touch of sympathy. “I appreciate your business.”

“I appreciate your baking,” I crack, flashing a disarming smile.

Later in the day, Katniss quite literally stumbles upon that pond. Freshly hydrated, she's looking much better as night falls in the arena. Safe, relatively speaking. The only tribute in her vicinity is the tiny girl from Eleven, who seems more intent on evading any attackers than going on the offensive. Once again, I can rest easy.

***

When I blearily enter the Commune on Friday morning to grab my coffee, I assume Katniss is still peacefully tied up in her latest tree. Instead, as I look up from punching my order into the machine to check out the nearest TV, I see the girl from Eleven crashing through the forest, lit only by the raging inferno biting at her heels. My stomach drops, then seizes with anger. They couldn’t even give Katniss one fucking night of peace to recover. Of course, why should I have expected that? It's no fun for the audience.

I’ve just plunked my plate of breakfast down on one of the crowded tables, glowering at the TV, when the shot switches to another camera and I’m drawn closer to the screen as if by magic. There she is, on her knees under a stone outcropping, a pool of vomit beneath her. Though the wall of fire is bearing down on her, she’s not moving, stupidly trying to catch her breath in the heavy smoke. I’m on the verge of screaming at the TV for her to move when a fireball comes flying out of nowhere and strikes the stone close to her head.

My hand claps over my mouth as Katniss springs to her feet and bolts. The fireballs follow, targeting her mercilessly as she attempts to flee the fire zone. I stand there unmoving, barely breathing, for several minutes even as my shiftmates start to clear out. Several pairs of eyes bore into me, but everyone must be too afraid to talk to me. A bad temper has its perks.

“Mason,” a voice finally beckons from behind me, accompanying some hurried footsteps. “You're late for the briefing.” When I don’t move, my comrade repeats, “Mason!” A pair of hands grip my upper arms from behind, giving me a shake. “Let’s go, or Captain Stark will have your head,” hisses the voice, which I now register to be Athena’s. She half guides, half drags me back to the hallway, barely pausing to let me grab my drink. My plate of breakfast still lies on the table, untouched, which is probably good because I doubt I could have kept it down.

When we make it to the briefing room, interrupting Purnia’s assignments, she rolls her eyes but refrains from commenting verbally. The meeting is no more than a few minutes long, as per usual, but every second is torture. Being helpless is bad enough. Being in the dark is worse. I gear up in a flash and then pace around beside a hummer while I wait for my partners for the day to join me. When we arrive at the Square, I jump off the side before the vehicle has even stopped rolling. Sprinting toward the large screen, all I can see is Katniss lying on her stomach in the smoky haze, motionless.

“Is she okay?” I demand breathlessly of the closest night shifter, who stares at me like I’m a crazy person.

“She’s alive,” he says slowly. “Took a hit to the leg.” Looking me over, he gathers, “You bet on her?”

“Something like that.”

It turns out Katniss is conscious, soaking her hands in a pool because they got burned too. Her leg is a whole other story. The fireball scorched her calf, leaving the skin crimson and blistered. One must have caught her braid too, because it’s noticeably shorter than before and looking singed at the end. Eventually she gets the courage to look at her leg, though she can’t do much to treat it but soak it in the water as well. If Haymitch would show the fuck up, maybe he could get her some burn medicine or painkillers. But, as usual, he disappoints.

Katniss struggles through the next couple hours, slicing off burned parts of her pants and jacket, coaxing some food and water back into her stomach. She winces and probably curses anytime her leg loses contact with the water, though I can’t know for sure because the volume is all but muted at night in consideration for those who live in the Square. There’s not much to hear, anyway. Not until the Careers wake up at their camp by the Cornucopia and see the billowing black clouds above what was a large section of the forest.

“They did it to flush people out,” insists Clove. “No one died yesterday. We gear up, head to the edge of the fire line. We’re bound to find someone nearby.”

“How do you know it wasn’t some idiot like the girl from Eight who started it?” asks the lanky boy from where he’s still sprawled lazily on the ground.

“Just look at it,” she scoffs, pointing through the smoke. “You think a natural fire up and died in three straight lines across miles of forest? Don’t be a moron, Marvel.”

“And there was no cannon last night, so even if it was a tribute, they had to run,” points out Cato. “Clove’s right.” The others agree, and soon the pack is armed and heading toward the rectangle of scorched forest that starts less than half a mile into the forest and stretches all the way to the arena boundary. They leave behind the boy from Three, who’s in the middle of his own project - reactivating the pedestal mines and burying them in strategic places around the supplies they’ve arranged in a neat pile. Cato was right to let him live. He’s turned out to be more useful than half the Careers so far.

They start hunting at the near edge of the burned section, pretty close to where the fire spit out Katniss and the other girl. But thankfully, they turn left instead of right and head deeper into the forest on the opposite side of the fire zone from where Katniss lies, in no shape to run or fight. She’s only staring blankly at the sky, on the verge of dozing off. By the time the pack decides to circle back and come down the other side, she’s fast asleep.

“Move, Katniss,” I whisper as they trek through the charred woodland. “Fucking move. Wake up.” But Katniss does neither, dead to the world. The pack will take several more hours to work their way back there, but she’s directly in their path. Though the still smoky air obscures their vision, they’re unlikely to miss her. Even if she is gone by then, the charred pieces of fabric indicate the start of a trail. She needs a head start.

As I’m gearing down after shift, Purnia summons me to meet her in the briefing room. This is becoming a somewhat regular thing. “I’m not the first person to ever show up late, you know,” I say as I shut the door behind me. “If that’s what this is about.”

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “You get a warning, same as everybody else.”

“A warning?” I repeat, cocking a saucy eyebrow.

“Yes,” she answers, hardly amused. “If you’re going to be late, don’t bother coming at all. I can’t have you distracting everyone.”

“It was fine, Purnia,” I protest. “No one cared but you.”

“But everyone noticed,” she counters. “Do you want to know what else they’re noticing?” When I merely shift my weight, she declares, “If it happens again, I’m suspending you. For your own good.”

“For my own good?” I parrot back at her.

“Maybe you need the time off and the privacy more than you need the money,” she reasons. “And you’re certainly not earning it, moping around the way you are, barely even watching the crowd.”

My face morphs into a scowl and I snap, “Why are you being such a dick?”

“Why are you being such a brat?” she retorts. Her narrowed eyes suggest I’ve succeeded in getting under her skin like she has under mine. “It’s my job to ensure you do your job, Agent. If you’re too distracted to patrol, you shouldn’t be out there.” Some unidentifiable emotion flickers in her eyes, and she adds, “And you’re not as good an actor as you think, either. You’re losing control.”

Straightening up, I assert, “I am perfectly in control, Captain Stark. You don’t need to worry about me. Why don’t you go mother hen someone else for once?”

Her hand gives a dismissive wave. “Get out of here, Mason.”

“Gladly,” I snark, slamming the door on the way out for good measure. I do, however, avoid the Commune for a while to deflect any growing suspicion. When Darius invites me to go to the Hob that evening, I embrace the opportunity to watch the Games away from prying eyes. The ones at the barracks, anyway. I have to keep up some guise of neutrality at the Hob as well, but at least I haven’t lost my shit there during these Games, yet.

As we join the few people gathered around the small projector screen in the corner by Greasy Sae’s, the first thing I see is the tall blonde bimbo climbing up a tree. Seems pretty boring until I realize it’s in pursuit of Katniss and my stomach consequently sinks into my bowels. During this tense moment, the cameras switch a few times and we get looks at some of the other nearby tributes. The girl from Eleven is hiding in the adjacent tree, unbeknownst to anyone. The Career pack stands at the foot of Katniss’s tree, cheering Glimmer on. Except for Cato, who is storming around, rubbing his neck and cursing up a storm.

“What the hell is his problem?” I ask.

“He already fell trying to catch Katniss,” explains Greasy Sae. “She invited him up to join her like she was asking him over for tea.”

A snicker bursts from my nose. “She would.”

Glimmer is probably still a good fifty feet below Katniss when she whips out the bow and tries to shoot her down. She clearly has a dearth of experience shooting a bow, as only one of her three shots lodges in the tree. The others go flying wide by at least a foot.

Katniss, little shit that she is, plucks the one arrow from the trunk near her feet and mockingly waves it above her head, smirking down at Glimmer. She might as well be chanting, “Na na na na boo boo.” I’d probably be falling madly in love with this snarky badass by now, if I wasn’t already madly in love with her. If nothing else, she has balls of steel.

“Give me that,” demands Cato, snatching the bow out of Glimmer’s hands when she returns defeated. He wastes another arrow on the fruitless endeavor. Cato’s never been much of a shot, and Katniss is at least 80 feet up.

“Maybe you should throw the sword!” she calls down to him. If she was a crowd favorite before, she’s got to be a Capitol darling by now. Those people eat up this kind of taunting theatrics and fearless bravado. I mean, I don’t doubt Katniss is scared shitless, but I know the girl. Do I ever know her.

“Why don’t you try?” Marvel suggests to Clove. “You’re small enough.”

“Light enough,” she corrects him. “Too small. I don’t have the reach.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Shrimp,” Cato mocks her, making me snort with surprise. So my nickname for her has caught on. She was the only full-grown candidate who was smaller than me, and I had to get my kicks somehow. Either Cato’s doing the same, or he’s using my particular nickname for her to get under her skin, try to goad her into it. Given his personality and general lack of intellect, I’m betting the former.

“No, but I know my limits,” she snaps back. “Pardon me for not wanting to fall out of a tree like some kind of clumsy idiot.”

“We’re wasting time,” Melissa deflects as Cato shoots his district partner a dirty look. “We need a plan. It’s getting dark.”

“Oh, let her stay up there,” interjects Peeta. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere. We’ll deal with her in the morning.”

The others exchange suspicious looks for a long moment before Cato acquiesces, “Okay.” Shoving the bow back into Glimmer’s grasp, he stalks away and grumbles, “Somebody make a fire.” I’m sure glad no one there has thought of setting the tree on fire. That’s what I would do.

As the group splits up, fanning out a short distance to gather wood, I notice Cato’s not the only one moving gingerly. Marvel has a marked limp and Peeta and Melissa are sporting fresh cuts. I continue to observe quietly while Darius peels off to get some booze, leaving me alone with the elderly merchant. We enjoy a comfortable silence for a while, until Clove winces at a small stumble on her way back to the tree and I query, “What the hell happened to them?”

“Got into it with a pack of wild dogs displaced by the fire,” says Greasy Sae. “Slowed them down, lucky for your… Katniss.” She averts her eyes to the screen as I turn on her.

“My Katniss?” I repeat, eyebrows at my hairline.

“For Katniss,” she clarifies, tongue tucked in her cheek. “Our Katniss.”

“Uh huh.” Folding my arms, I release an indignant huff and return my eyes to the feed. A long, awkward moment concludes with me asking, “Does everyone know?”

“I know nothing,” she claims. “I merely witnessed a variety of theatrics between you two and your would-be suitors. Believe it or not, I remember what it’s like to be young.”

My mouth twitches gratefully. “Thank you for not starting any rumors.”

The old woman shrugs. “None of my business. You’re no Cray, but even if you were, people do what they have to to get by.”

“You’re right,” I grumble. “I’m not like Cray. Though Gale seems to think so.”

“And young Mr. Hawthorne is a completely objective third party in the matter,” she deadpans. My ironic chuckle calls her gaze back, a faint smile on her lips. “You seem like a good enough kid, Agent.”

“I try,” is all I have time to say, because Darius is returning with two mugs of ale.

“Any movement?” he asks, handing me one.

“Only on the ground,” I say, shaking my head. But right then the shot switches back to Katniss, and it’s clear she’s spotted her neighbor in the other tree despite the dying daylight, from the way she’s intently propped herself up on one elbow and is staring into the foliage. After several moments, the cameras catch some movement on the part of the small darker girl, a silent lift of her hand as she points up into Katniss’s tree.

Katniss follows the girl’s finger and squints at a form higher up in the tree. She doesn’t seem to be able to make it out, but with the cameras, we get a good look. It’s a huge fucking wasp nest. There’s no insects crawling on the outside, but I’d bet my ass it’s the mutant Capitol-engineered killer wasps, not the regular kind. That would be boring.

The feed returns to the commentators’ booth, where Caesar Flickerman must be having the same thoughts, because he remarks, “Claudius, I think those are tracker jackers. Am I wrong?”

“Ohhhhh,” draws out Claudius. “Those things are very lethal.”

“Very,” concurs Caesar, before launching into an explanation of the creatures for any naive members of the Capitol audience. Most district citizens surely know of them, at least enough to steer clear. But all the nests of these genetically engineered mutts that sat near the Capitol were destroyed after the war, and we don’t see them in every Hunger Games.

As Caesar is finishing his spiel, the screen behind him shows movement in Katniss’s tree. We switch back to the in-arena cameras and get a better look at her as she gingerly maneuvers her burned leg back inside the sleeping bag through a hole she’s slashed in it. After extricating it altogether, she starts to climb higher up the tree. Toward the nest.

“What the fuck is she doing?” I comment, my eyes going wide as fear spreads out in my chest. She should know better than to get that close to a nest. Does she even realize what it is? I’m still puzzling over it as she reaches the branch the nest hangs from and then stops. Moments later, the sky lights up with the Capitol seal and the anthem starts. That’s when she positions the serrated edge of her knife on the branch. My breath hitches in my suddenly tight throat. “Oh my god.”

“She’s not serious!” exclaims Darius, stepping closer with bulging eyes as she begins to saw. But despite the vibrations in the branch, the faint humming in the nest barely swells in volume, and no wasps crawl out to search for the assailant.

“It’s the smoke,” I think out loud, expelling a sigh of relief. “They’re comatose.”

“So will they wake up to attack the Careers?” the redhead asks.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. A new wave of anxiety is afflicting my gut and more notably my head, which I grab as if that can stop it from spinning. “In any case, should scare them off. Give her time to clear out.” The cameras break away from Katniss long enough to show a parachute landing on her sleeping bag, and I growl, “‘Bout fucking time.”

Katniss isn’t able to get through the branch before the anthem ends. When the music stops, she has to as well, if she doesn’t want the pack to catch on and move their camp. But her disgruntled expression melts when she returns to her sleeping bag and finds the gift. Opening the small pot attached to the parachute, she dips a finger in and releases an immediate sigh of relief. “Oh, Haymitch,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

“He finally took our money,” huffs Greasy Sae. “We chipped in for that medicine. Changed the gift request after she got scorched.”

My head shakes with disgust. “He’s such a fucking disgrace.”

“He’s okay,” Sae answers noncommittally, though I can feel her wary gaze. “He’s doing well, considering the life he’s had.”

“Yeah,” I scoff, “I don’t have any sympathy for some rich entitled asshole who almost let my girlfriend die of thirst because he was too drunk to do his job.” Almost immediately my eyes dart about in a panic, but the other group nearby doesn’t seem to have heard me. Darius’s eyebrows have shot up and Greasy Sae’s cheeks are crinkling with silent laughter. Shuffling on the spot, I jam my hands in my pockets. “So… how ‘bout them Careers?”

***

Katniss’s knife slips back in the groove in that branch early the next morning. Early for them, anyway. I’ve been in the Square for a while by that time, squirming under Purnia’s watchful eye. Yesterday seems to have erased the last of her confidence in me, as she’s been hanging around the Square most of the morning.

The girl on screen goes rigid all of a sudden. The cameras zoom in on a tracker jacker crawling out of the nest, and my own muscles tense at the sight. She’d better hurry and cut that thing down before they all wake up. The wasps, I mean. The Careers show no sign of waking below her, including Glimmer, who was supposed to be on watch but has slumped back against the tree trunk. Even Peeta has finally fallen asleep - he was awake during my breakfast, and apparently had been up all night before dozing off not long ago. If the sawing doesn’t wake any of them up, they’re likely all as good as dead. That should make me happier than it does.

“Wake up, Clove,” I whisper, rocking back and forth on my heels. Just enough time to wake up and get a head start is all she needs. And for the Careers to leave and be pursued by every wasp is all Katniss needs. Not that I care about the rest of them. As much resentment as I hold toward Clove, the thought of her dying in agony at the hands of tracker jackers sends anxiety shooting through my veins. I don’t want her to die this way. Truth be told, I don’t want her to die at all. Now that the possibility is a very real one, I’ve been slapped with that fact. And it pisses me off.

Fear for both her and the tribute in the tree is making my legs unsteady, and I have to grip a nearby railing to help me keep my feet and my composure. The ice queen is watching, and I can’t blink. Maybe she was right that I would be better suited taking the time off, but my pride is at stake now.

Katniss too is resolved to get a grip on herself, and after patting some sweat off her palms, takes a deep breath and grabs the knife again. She makes quick work of the rest of the branch, gritting her teeth and mostly holding in a yelp when she takes a sting on the knee. As the branch gives way, she pushes it away from herself, but she still gets two more stings from wasps already in the air by the time it twists through the branches below it and hits the ground. That’s all we see of her for several minutes. Wouldn’t want to miss the chaos on the ground.

The noise of the impact jolts Clove from her sleep, and her eyes shoot wide open at the sight and sound of the angry swarm taking to the air. She’s up and running in an instant, which curls the corner of my mouth slightly despite the grimness of the moment. She can thank me for that quick wake-and-respond reflex I drilled into her. The others are a little more disoriented and bear the brunt of the attack. Especially Glimmer. While Clove gets away with only one sting from an especially alert and fast wasp, the wannabe archer only feet from the remnants of the nest is mobbed by the furious insects. Her shrieks and desperate flailing send chills through me, my throat going dry.

Peeta and the other boys bolt without a second thought, but Melissa makes the mistake of grabbing her spear before running. That extra couple of seconds puts her in the crosshairs of more wasps, taking the heat for her sharper allies. They’re yelling to each other, Cato urging the others to head for the lake, as they leave their sacrificial lambs in their dust, ignoring their screams. As the adage goes, “I don’t need to outrun the bear. I just need to outrun you.” Again I’m feeling a little queasy. From the scene before me, sure, but also because I know I’d do the exact same thing. They’re all enemies in the end, anyway. Can’t afford to care about anyone in the arena. That place really fucks with your humanity.

Glimmer doesn’t get far before collapsing, still within view of the tree. Melissa is on her feet, but she’s sustained close to ten stings by now and is surely a goner. Sure enough, she doesn’t make it out of the woods. The boys meanwhile are diving into the lake, joining Clove and submerging themselves to escape the swarm. The boy from Three, who was sleeping at their camp, catches on a little too late and receives a couple stings of his own before getting underwater.

Finally the cameras break to Katniss, who is woozily clambering down the tree, looking dangerously close to passing out herself. When she hits the ground, she takes off away from the tree, away from the lake. Away from the only bow in the arena.

“The bow!” I hiss. “Look around, you fucking fool!”

The only people looking around are a couple of curious locals near me, who I chase off with a scowl and my venomous evil eye. Katniss doesn’t heed my advice and crashes through the underbrush until she finds the pool where she spent yesterday and jumps in. It takes me a mystified moment to realize she’s trying to follow Cato’s advice to evade the wasps in the water. But none are on her tail; they’re buzzing around in the vicinity of the lake and slowly dispersing.

“I’m going to kill that little bitch!” roars Cato between dunks. “She’s dead fucking meat!” He can’t leave the lake yet, not with some of the colony still tracking them, but he’s itching to. On second thought, maybe Katniss should just forget the bow and run as far as she can. It’s by far her strongest weapon, but thanks to me she’s competent with plenty of others. She’ll have other opportunities to scavenge dead tributes’ weapons as the Games roll on.

After a few minutes, Katniss drags herself out of the pool and collapses on the rocks surrounding it. I barely have time to pray that she’ll get moving before she’s on her feet. But she staggers back in the direction she came from, not away, running as fast as she can in her altered state until she reaches Glimmer’s body. She heard me, much too late. Most of the wasps have moved on from the lake, and Cato is edging closer to shore, keeping a close eye on the remaining ones circling near them. Peeta and the boy from Three are already in the shallows, probably because they don’t know how to swim, but I’m not so scared of them.

Glimmer’s canon sounds just as Katniss reaches her and attempts to recover the weapons. The bow is held in a literal death grip, her swollen fingers immobilized around it. Katniss has to break them with a stone just to pry it free, then she attempts to roll the body over, which ends with her on her butt, eyes unfocused. She woozily pushes herself back onto her knees, panting through her mouth like she’s holding back a geyser of vomit. Which isn’t unlikely, given the grotesque, deformed body before her.

A second cannon sounds as we get our next look at the lake, where Cato is screaming another round of death threats. He finds the lake bed under his feet and struggles toward the shore just as a hovercraft materializes over the forest above Melissa’s body.

“She’s mine!” snarls Peeta, charging out of the lake ahead of Cato. Clove pushes her way to shore, growling obscenities as Cato takes a moment to choose a particularly sinister-looking new sword from their stockpile, miraculously managing not to trip any bombs. Marvel and Three appear too dazed to go on the attack, languishing in the shallows. Three is tiny and Marvel took more stings than anyone else left alive, so it’s not surprising.

“Do this!” Katniss commands herself, then tries again to roll the larger girl over. She succeeds this time and struggles to free the sheath with shaking hands, wild-eyed and hyperventilating. Peeta is almost upon her, brandishing Melissa’s spear, by the time she frees it and pulls it into her chest. Cato is a ways behind him, stumbling over his own feet, and we get a look at Clove running smack into a tree and falling on her butt, which would be hilarious and satisfying in less frightening circumstances. She blinks around in confusion for a couple seconds before lying back, holding her head. One attacker down, thank god. Katniss has not even retained the coordination to nock an arrow, let alone shoot anyone. Peeta appears the most alert of anyone right now, so I really hope he was bluffing. The way he drops his throwing arm at the sight of his supposed enemy gives me hope.

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at Katniss, who is staring dumbfoundedly. “Are you mad?” He pokes her with the butt end of the spear. “Get up! Get up!” Katniss barely manages to do so, and he pushes her toward the forest, away from where Cato is bearing down on them. “Run!” screams Peeta. “Run!” When Cato crashes through the trees into view, Katniss finally gets it. She turns and flees as Peeta faces up to Cato, blocking his pursuit of her.

“Get outta the way, Lover Boy!” roars the monstrous tribute.

“I can’t,” says Peeta, raising the spear in a defensive position.

Cato growls and a short battle ensues, only lasting more than a few seconds because the aggressor is so unsteady on his feet. Peeta is able to dodge a few blows and block one before Cato takes a second hack at the spear and cracks it halfway down the shaft. The smaller blonde jumps back and bolts, notably in a different direction than Katniss did, and Cato chooses to pursue the boy with a broken weapon rather than the armed girl who scored an eleven. Fucking idiot. He does catch up, however, forcing Peeta to turn around and defend himself. Rapidly Cato attacks, slashing the mostly defenseless boy across the thigh. He’s about to strike again when Peeta punches him in the cheekbone, driving the stinger farther into a huge sting under his eye. Cato screams and drops his sword to grab at his eye, allowing Peeta to scamper away, limping and attempting unsuccessfully to staunch the flow of blood on the run.

I’m jolted from the gruesome scene by a hand on my shoulder. Glancing over, I find Purnia at my side, eyes fixed on the screen. “What do you want?” I scowl.

Purnia doesn’t glorify that with a response. “You were right about one thing,” she tells me. “I am a dick about Katniss.” Now she turns her head. “Not that I’ve treated you unfairly, quite the opposite.”

A smirk comes over my lips, despite my best efforts. “Why, Captain? You jealous?”

“Hardly,” she huffs, averting her eyes again. “It pains me to watch you put yourself in harm’s way.”

“Why?” I demand.

“Because you’re my friend.”

“You’re a shitty one,” I declare, recapturing her suddenly icy gaze. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me, Purnia. These are my choices to make. Fuck, you’re worse than Darius sometimes.” That visibly stings, sending a pang of regret to my stomach, so I soften the blow with a dirty joke, as I am prone to do. “Well, probably not in the sack.”

“Please, Johanna,” she chuckles. “We both know that’s not true.”

My eyes narrow. “How would you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “Gross, never. I hear the girls, the way they talk.”

“Is he fucking someone new now?” I ask, suddenly feeling defensive for some reason.

Purnia tips her head. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“No, thank you.” Eyeing the broadcast once again, I’m faced with the sight of Marvel taking wild swings and screaming at Three, demanding to know why he’s purple. “They don’t exaggerate what that shit does to you.”

“They sure don’t,” agrees Purnia as we watch Peeta slump down in a thicket of bushes, clutching his leg while Cato retreats and finds a dizzy Clove gathering their weapons. They are both close to collapsing too, and don’t bother trying to track Katniss, heading instead for the Cornucopia. The archer is staggering through the forest, screaming and clawing at her eyes. When she trips and falls into a pit, she doesn’t get up, just curls into a whimpering ball of flesh and venom before passing out.

“At least she’s safe,” observes Purnia. I’m tempted to take a shot and say I’m surprised she’s happy about that, but decide to suspend the hostilities. I lack the energy to fight her, or maybe - is it possible - I just don’t want to.

“Yeah. For now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've mentioned before, I use a mix of book and movie canon, mostly sticking to book in terms of plot. There will be more plot changes coming as far as the Games, we just haven't reached that point yet.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for her ideas about how to make this chapter flow smoothly, and for the beta read.
> 
> Only somewhat related, today is the two-year anniversary of the publication of Lifeblood chapter 1! How time flies. My writing is much better now, largely thanks to my tireless beta. It’s been a fun two years. Hopefully one day I will get those last few chapters of Lifeblood pumped out and be able to call it finished.


	18. Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for graphic depictions of violence. This is the Hunger Games, after all.

If anyone wants to finish the job Katniss started, now is the perfect time. Passed out at the Cornucopia, the Careers are sitting ducks. Serves them right, camping out in the open like they are only capable of being predators, not prey. That kind of arrogance is usually what gets the Careers killed. Thinking themselves invincible, failing to protect themselves or their food supply. Likely their only saving grace is that the lone waking tribute who knows they are comatose is the little girl from Eleven, and even in their current state she dares not come any closer than a thicket of bushes at the edge of the clearing.

Katniss is slightly better concealed, and at least the whole field doesn’t know where to find her, but I worry about her. Over twenty-four hours have passed since the tracker jacker attack, and she’s still dead to the world, utterly defenseless. That same small girl, Rue, tracked her down yesterday. Though Rue didn’t attack Katniss or try to raid her supplies, it made me nervous. That Katniss left an easy trail to follow, and that the girl was interested in her whereabouts in the first place. No one has found Peeta yet, but he’ll probably die of infection before long anyway. The deep gash in his thigh has mostly stopped bleeding but is already red and inflamed.

A clatter behind me turns my head. Some of the afternoon shifters are clearing their plates, heading back to the kitchen to drop off their dishes. I pick unenthusiastically at the last of my breakfast that I’ve been toying with for over an hour. It’s my best excuse to be here. The TVs are constantly on these days, and everyone watches the Games while they eat. When I hear another set of footsteps entering the room, I decide it’s probably time I head out. Popping the final crumb of bacon in my mouth, I sneak a peek over my shoulder and find myself staring down Purnia.

“I know,” I sigh, giving my eyes a roll. “Too obvious, right?”

“Looks a little desperate, sitting here alone,” she agrees flatly. Once I’ve had a chance to squirm under her gaze a moment, she comes closer and settles down beside me, placing a large bowl on the coffee table beside my empty plate. “Popcorn?”

Squinting, I point out, “Don’t you have your own TV?”

“Uh huh.” Scooping a handful out of the bowl, she relaxes back against the couch and tosses a piece in her mouth. My inquisitive gaze melts into a grateful one. “Help yourself,” she encourages me, and I obey, most of the tension leaving my body. “I would have invited you over,” she explains, “but I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas.” My brow furrows until she drops her straight face and shoots me a cheeky wink. Then I chuckle with relief.

“You’ve already given me ideas, Captain,” I purr right back at her.

Thought her eyes are alight with amusement, she shakes her head. “Too much, Mason.”

“Fine,” I pout, crossing my arms over my chest with a dramatic huff. Purnia merely grins and turns to the TV, but most of my attention stays on her.

“You aren’t a shitty friend,” I say a long moment later, making her blink. “You always have my back.”

Purnia gives a little shrug and clears her throat. “Well, I understand why you were unhappy with me.” Meeting my eyes, she drawls, “Apparently, I have these maternal urges that are tough to override.”

“You missed your calling,” I tease. “Think maybe your eggs won’t all be fried by the time you’re thirty-eight?”

“Forty-three,” she reminds me.

“That’s a little late.”

“Probably.”

A comfortable silence follows, only breaking when we next get a look at Katniss a few minutes later. Shuddering in the fetal position, she’s clawing at her arms, eyes bouncing around behind their lids. “She’ll be fine,” Purnia assures me, eyes locked on the screen. “Her vitals are stable.”

“Not her heart rate,” I point out, eyeing the skyrocketing numbers in the status report.

“No,” she agrees blankly. “I was stung once. The hallucinations are terrifying.”

My eyebrows arch at this new piece of information. Unsure how to respond, I show a tiny smirk and ask, “Did you see purple people, like Marvel?”

“No,” she replies, staring through the screen. “Just dead people.”

Her demeanor gives me pause, but she’s the one who brought it up in the first place, so I chance one more question. My voice wavers almost indiscernably as I ask, “How long will it last?”

Purnia’s brow crinkles. “Three stings for someone her size? Maybe another day, tops. Helps that she pulled the stingers out.”

“I hate watching her suffer.”

Finally the officer turns her head. “Then why are you still here?”

“I dunno,” I shrug. “Keeping watch, I guess.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Purnia reminds me, earning herself some side-eye. As always, she’s a terrific source of comfort. But she’s also right.

“It’s the worst,” I grumble.

“I know.”

Despite her implied advice to get out of there, my CO stays with me through the morning. There’s very little to watch, what with all the major players incapacitated. Well, Thresh is automatically a contender because of his size and the fact that he has a steady source of food, but all he’s doing is hanging around in the field of tall grasses and eating them. Thrilling. When Purnia finally stands - slowly, I guess because her old lady joints are stiff - and stretches, she asks, “Don’t suppose you’re hungry?”

“Nah,” I say, nodding at the empty bowl. Mournfully, I watch as she places my breakfast dishes in the larger bowl and straightens up again, resting it on her hip. There go all my excuses to be here without really watching.

“If you’re still set on staying here and torturing yourself, maybe you could take a nap,” she suggests, eyes trailing along the length of the couch. Well there’s a novel idea. A novel excuse. Taking that advice, I sprawl out across the couch as she leaves for the kitchen.

A couple minutes later, something heavy lands on my lower legs, lifting my head reflexively. I can’t help grinning at the sight of the folded blanket. “You’re not gonna tuck me in?” I call over the back of the couch.

Purnia’s answer barely carries to me as she exits the rec hall once more. “You wanted to be treated like a big girl.”

***

Feet creeping silently along the forest floor, I hold my bowstring taut as I scan the trees for signs of prey. After a couple more hours of watching the Slumber Games, I concluded that it might be better to go do something productive after all, take my mind off everything. That decision had nothing whatsoever to do with me overhearing Clove mumble my name repeatedly during one of her fever dreams. Not in the slightest. They say tracker jacker venom was developed to target the area in the brain that controls fear. So she’s afraid of me. That thought allowed me a moment of pompous self-satisfaction. I refused to consider any alternative interpretations.

A distinct tweeting catches my attention, pulling my eyes up to a branch about forty feet above me. A couple of plump birds rest there, blissfully oblivious to any danger. Licking my lips, I step back to adjust my angle and draw another arrow in preparation to fire off two quick shots. The first arrow finds a home in one bird’s eye, but while I’m nocking the second another arrow comes flying in from my left and lands in the second bird’s chest.

Swivelling to the left, I strain the bowstring as my heart thumps in my ears. A Peacekeeper alone in the woods could be a prime target for a disgruntled local, and I just announced my presence. By the time I catch my breath, I’ve also gathered my wits enough to guess who it probably is. Not that it makes me any less of a target. “Gale?” I call out softly, relaxing the string a touch. “Is that you?”

Silently the towering boy emerges from behind a tree, his own bow loaded and pointed my way. I take up the slack on mine once again. He approaches with precise, silent steps painfully reminiscent of his hunting partner’s. Though he’s wearing his usual irritated expression, it appears to be confusion narrowing his eyes. He levels them at me accusingly. “What are you doing with Katniss's weapons?”

“Confiscating them, obviously,” I snark, lowering my bow just a little in what I hope will be received as a peaceful gesture and not an invitation to skewer me through the heart. “I’ve used this bow lots of times, just never when you were around. I wonder why.”

“‘Cause she was embarrassed?” suggests Gale, tilting his own bow down in reply.

“No, because she didn't want to piss you off or hurt your feelings,” I retort as I return the arrow to its quiver and move to retrieve my kill from under the tree. Swinging the game bag around to my front, I stuff the bird inside atop my earlier kills. Plucking the arrow from it, I grunt, “Apparently, that's easy to do.”

“So you think those are yours, now?” he asserts, nodding at the game bag as he comes closer. I assume he means the weapons too.

“They practically were mine already,” I remark as I rub the arrow clean on my shirt, “but no, I think of them as being on loan until she gets back. Her mom gave me the bag so I wouldn't have to carry game around in my backpack.”

Gale’s eyebrows go sky high. “You’re hunting for her family?”

Squinting, I scoff in disbelief. “Who else would I be hunting for?”

“You’ve bought from Katniss before. Could be for you,” he points out.

“Sure,” I shrug, “but they need it more than I do.” Holding his gaze, I add, “And I figured if I hunted for them, you could keep more for Rory and the others.” The name drop is no accident; some vestige of familiarity with his family may help get me out of this situation unscathed. Gale is close enough that I could probably disarm him if I caught him by surprise, but I’d rather disarm him with words.

What I’m not expecting is for Gale to let his string go completely lax, widening eyes betraying his surprise and sparking with indignation. He purses his lips. “I don’t need your help, Agent.”

“Clearly not,” I articulate. “But Katniss cares about you, so if what helps her family helps yours as well, I'm okay with that. Even if you are a colossal dickface.”

Gale’s eyes blink hard and then flutter. “That's the most creative insult I’ve heard from you yet,” he observes, tilting his head.

“Thanks, I'm digging deep into my reserves now,” I drawl with a proud smirk. “I’ve had to use so many on you, it's hard to stay original.”

Gale snickers, a tiny smile playing at his lips. Finally sliding his arrow back into the quiver, his eyes drop to my left hand. “Didn’t know you knew how to shoot.” His face hardens again a little and he tacks on, “A bow, I mean.”

“And I didn't know you knew how to smile, yet here we are,” I shoot back. Despite my tone that straddles the line between teasing and sarcastic, I let a hint of a smile show through as I stow my own arrow. Gale visibly relaxes, allowing me to do the same. “Anyway, I just wanted a bird for dinner, so I’ll get out of your way. The forest is yours, Stormy.”

As I turn toward the Seam, Gale steps to his right to block my path. Not aggressively or completely, just enough to capture my attention. His eyebrows have practically been gobbled up by the creases in his forehead. “You eat dinner with them, now?”

“Have for a while,” I say impatiently. “That’s a normal girlfriend thing to do.”

Gale’s eyes narrow at that, but he shakes it off. “I mean, when Katniss isn’t here?”

I shrug, averting my gaze. “It gets lonely.” Raising my bow in a parting gesture, I tell him, “I’ll see you around, Gale.”

“Guess so,” he grouses half-heartedly. “I can't seem to avoid you.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “Try as you might.”

When I arrive at the house, I find Prim sitting by the TV, stroking Buttercup rather aggressively as she watches the Games. He doesn’t complain. Mrs. Everdeen is wiping down the kitchen table, cleaning up after mixing some salves, by the looks of it. Placing the game bag on a clean part of the table, I mosey over to Prim. “Any action?”

“Not from Katniss,” grumbles Prim. The boy from Ten currently holds the screen, hobbling around on his bad foot as he gathers edible plants.

“My boss says she’ll probably be out until tomorrow.” Prim squints up at me and I realize that that probably sounded like an insider’s callous judgment. “Oh, she’s been stung before,” I clarify.

“So Peacekeepers aren’t immune,” remarks Mrs. Everdeen from behind me.

There’s a droll smile on the woman’s face when I turn my head to glare at her, but that doesn’t stop me from snapping, “We’re humans too.”

Sighing out my aggression, I settle down beside Prim and give Buttercup some scratches on his skull. Back at the Career camp, Clove sits scowling out over the lake, sharply pitching knives into a log. A closer shot of her face reveals troubled eyes and a set jaw, causing a cramp in my chest. She had arguably a worse childhood than I did, so I can only imagine the contents of her nightmares. Shaking off that thought, I swallow the lump in my throat and inquire, “How long ago did she wake up?”

“Maybe a couple hours,” says Prim. “None of the others are stirring yet.”

“She only got one sting,” comments Mrs. Everdeen from the table, where she’s plucking my most recent kill of its feathers. “Hopefully she won’t go hunting without her bodyguard.”

That well-timed snark procures a snicker from me. It’s true, Clove is not as fearless as Caesar suggested on the first day. Well aware of her size handicap, she sticks close to the other Careers, her hulking district partner in particular. She’s fallen into that kid sister role well.

“What if she does?” whispers Prim, fingers winding in the cat’s matted mane. “Or what if Cato wakes up and they go after her together?”

Swallowing hard, I say what they’re probably thinking but too ashamed to voice. “We hope they follow Peeta’s trail instead.” I get a pair of wary looks from two sets of blue eyes, but don’t change my tune. “There’s only one winner. We’re allowed to be selfish.”

“He saved her life, Hanna,” Prim recalls gently.

“Which means nothing if she dies,” I counter. Neither blonde argues that, despite the fact that we all know it will always mean something. But we can’t afford to think that way. Not until it’s over. 

***

For someone who said empathy is of no use in a life or death situation, Katniss is turning out to be quite the hypocrite.

Dawn is long past in District 12, but there’s barely enough light in the arena to make out my girlfriend, still snoozing and bundled up with that tiny girl Rue in her sleeping bag. It’s not the only thing she’s shared with the little moocher. Katniss has already given the kid two whole poultry legs and some of her burn medicine since she discovered Rue stalking her yesterday afternoon. Rue had medicinal leaves to treat Katniss’s tracker jacker stings, so at least she had something to contribute to their alliance, but once again I found myself worrying that Katniss is going to get herself killed protecting a weaker player. Katniss needs to keep playing lone wolf, not tie herself to some deadweight ally like Peeta or Rue. Lone wolf is her default. It’s her strength.

After breakfast, the girls go looking for game and craft a plan to draw the Careers away from their camp so Katniss can get to the pyramid of supplies and destroy it. Knowing the trap that waits for her at the pyramid fills me with less anxiety than the thought of the trick failing and Katniss getting captured in the act.

Darius finds me in the Commune after shift, watching Katniss make her way back toward the lake. Having been with me yesterday when Katniss decided to team up with this wisp of a kid, he knows exactly how I feel about it. As usual, he decides to look on the bright side. “You know, if having an ally allows Katniss to go on the offensive, maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

“I don’t want her anywhere near Clove and Cato,” I retort. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to her if they take her alive? Especially after the tracker jacker attack.”

His eyebrows arch. “So you weren’t kidding about Clove being a sociopath.”

“Only a little.” We don’t talk much as we watch Rue setting up their last decoy fire and Katniss creeping closer to the camp. When the Careers are drawn away by the first fire, Cato declares that Katniss is his and that he’s going to kill her in his own way. Trying to distract myself from what that may entail, I tip my head at Darius and gloat, “What did I tell you?”

Distracting myself from my fear is impossible, however, once the monstrous blonde comes streaking back onto the plain after the string of explosions Katniss sets off with a few well-placed arrows. Thrown backward and injured by the blast, she barely crawls back into hiding before Cato arrives. The other Careers mostly stay out of his way as he rages around, pounding the earth and roaring obscenities. He’s starting to make himself look like a liability, to be honest. The look that Clove and Marvel share tell me they’re thinking something similar.

“It’s clear,” says the boy from Three after pitching several stones into the wreckage.

As the pack picks through it looking for something worth saving, Cato takes out his anger on the rubble at his feet. Several charred crates and containers suffer his wrath before he turns and starts shouting at the smaller boy. “This is all your fault, you little weasel! You’d said you’d protect the supplies!”

“They should have been isolated enough-” is all the kid gets out before Cato starts his advance, prompting him to turn and scram. Cato is big, but he’s not as slow as one might assume given his size. He catches the boy easily and snaps his neck in one swift motion.

As the lifeless body crumples to the ground and the cannon sounds, Cato turns on Clove and Marvel. “Whoever did this, I’m going to rip them limb from limb!”

“Pretty sure the explosion did that,” snarks Clove, but Cato’s not paying attention.

Marvel is trying to calm the larger boy down, but he is inconsolable, shoving his ally away. “We need to find out who it was!”

“We’ll find out tonight!” Clove shouts as she points at the sky, clearly losing her patience with her partner’s antics.

“Yeah, whoever it was, they’re dead,” agrees Marvel, stepping in front of Cato again, also pointing upward. “We’ll see who it was when it gets dark.”

Taking deep breaths of air and sanity, Cato slowly starts to nod. “All right.” Jerking his head at his second victim of the day, he stalks away from the smoking remnants of their supply cache. “Let’s get out of here, let them pick up the body.”

The others follow suit. “Wonder who it was,” mutters Marvel.

“I hope it was her,” grumbles Cato. “She and Lover Boy are such a pain in the ass. ‘Bout time they were gone.”

“I don’t.” Clove’s tone is flat and emotionless, her face hard as the boys glance her way. “She doesn’t deserve to die quickly after what she did to us.”

Those words land deep in my gut as I stare at the cold-blooded tribute. I can hardly believe that I once loved that monster. But my heart sinks as I realize something much more disturbing. I understand. Aside from upstaging them at every turn, Katniss caused the Careers a lot of pain and suffering with her tracker jacker stunt. And self-defense or not, from Clove’s perspective, she has every right to return the favor. If I was still watching in Two, I’d probably agree with her.

I didn’t just love that monster. I was that monster.

Darius leans in. “Kidding a little, huh?”

“No,” I answer, still staring at the screen in horror. “I don’t think I was kidding at all.”

***

Cato’s hostility toward his allies spiked when only the boys from Three and Ten showed up in the sky last night and the pack realized they’d given the bomber several hours to get away. Katniss was actually still incapacitated from the blast and hiding near the crime scene at the time, but they didn’t know that. By the time she got moving this morning, the Career pack had fruitlessly scoured a large chunk of the woods, and tensions were running high. They eventually split up, supposedly to cover more ground but mostly because they needed time apart to cool off. And that is how Marvel came upon Rue, how he found himself on the receiving end of one of Katniss’s arrows.

Unfortunately for Katniss, his spear was already lodged in her ally’s stomach by the time she located the screaming girl. Marvel releases his weapon as he falls to his knees and rips the arrow from his neck, choking to death on the blood that spews from it. Whipping her loaded bow from side to side, Katniss shouts, “Are there more? Are there more?”

Rue has to say no several times before Katniss hears her. Her left ear was bleeding after the explosion yesterday and no longer seems to be working, from the way she’s been testing the ear and looking to that side a lot as though to compensate. 

What follows is one of the more heart-wrenching things I’ve seen occur in a Hunger Games. Rue has barely been her ally for two days, but from the look on my girlfriend’s face, she could be watching her own sister die. She stays with the young girl until her cannon sounds, holding and stroking her head in her lap and even singing. Her voice is breaking and her tears splashing on the girl’s dark cheeks by the time she finishes the lullaby. There’s hardly a dry eye in the Commune, either.

Once she’s set Rue’s head gently on the ground, Katniss helps herself to both dead tributes’ packs. After a moment of waffling, she also retrieves the spear from Rue’s stomach, looking away and grimacing as she wipes the head clean on the grass. Despite looking set to go, she only stands there, blankly staring at Rue’s body.

Without warning, Katniss pitches her bow and spear to the ground and stalks away. I’m wondering if she’s gone off the deep end and is trying to get herself killed until she stops at a nearby bank of wildflowers and begins ripping them from the earth. Then I’m just perplexed, until she gathers up an armful and returns to her fallen ally. She’s only starting to place flowers on Rue’s body when the cameras abruptly cut to Thresh sharpening his scythe with a stone.

“Hey!” chirps one of my comrades. “What the fuck?” Dissatisfied grumbles echo throughout the Commune at the interruption. The longer the Games have gone on, the more people have been hanging around to watch. While I liked the privacy to work through my emotions, at least my copious interest no longer attracts attention.

Moments later, the feed changes again, this time to a shot of Cato barrelling through the forest, calling for his district partner. When he spies her, he sighs in relief as he jogs over. “You’re okay!”

“What do you care?” Clove mutters under her breath. As Cato arrives at her side, she glances in the direction of the impromptu memorial and lifts an eyebrow. “Marvel?”

“No clue,” shrugs Cato. “Let’s wait and see where the hovercraft go, maybe we’ll be able to recognize the bodies.”

They engage in some idle chat while they wait, and the small crowd in the Commune grows restless. “Let’s get back to the good stuff already,” grouses someone nearby. The cameras return to Katniss moments later, and he mutters, “About fucking time.”

Collecting her weapons from the ground, Katniss takes one more look at her ally. “Bye, Rue.” She presses her fingers to her lips and extends them to Rue in the District 12 salute. Then she turns and walks away, loaded bow in one hand and spear in the other. Hovercraft descend on the bodies, collect them in their claws, and we get a closer look at Rue as she is reeled up into the aircraft. Flowers adorn her hair and face, cover the wound in her stomach. A small bouquet sits in her tiny, lifeless hands. Even Marvel looks helpless and innocent in death, all traces of arrogance and bloodlust gone. That’s even more striking than Rue, at least to me.

The cameras have returned to the living tributes for mere moments when we get another interruption, this time in the form of the high pitched beeping that precedes an emergency communication. Cringing, I cover my ears as the sound echos out of every TV in the room, the screens going black. The words “REPORT ON DISTRICT 11” flash for a moment, then a middle-aged woman appears and tells us there has been a violent outburst at a screening of the Hunger Games in Zone B of District 11. A Level 1 alert has been issued and forces should be ready to mobilize if the situation worsens. Then the feed switches to a live shot of 11B, where locals are scuffling with the greatly outnumbered Peacekeepers.

The emergency broadcast ceases, and the Games returns to our screens. For a moment, nobody says a word, too shocked at what we just saw. Then someone mutters, “Shit!” and urgently clicks a remote, pulling up security camera footage of the area in question on one of the other TVs. Everyone crowds around to see, and I follow begrudgingly to hide my interest in Katniss, who is on the screen closest to me, walking away from Rue with much less purpose than she did last time. I glance at that TV every so often in hopes of catching another glimpse of her, though the cameras appear to have lost interest in her dazed wandering. Mostly I watch with everyone else as the scene in 11B spirals from a ruckus in the town center into a full-blown riot.

My ears ring with Cray’s words as the chaos intensifies. All it takes is one galvanizing event or hero, and you can have a riot on your hands. Cray was right, about that and about Katniss being a potentially inflammatory individual. And the most remarkable part is, she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. She has no idea, the effect that she’s having. Even I couldn’t have predicted this. But somehow, Cray recognized this quality in her long ago. And now I fear it’s going to get her killed.

The emergency channel has just returned to upgrade the alert to a Level 2 when Purnia bursts into the Commune, voice and posture authoritative. “Morning shifters, emergency meeting in the briefing room in five minutes. Cedric’s already en route to the Hob to pick up anyone there. Go knock on doors, tell your shiftmates.”

I ignore the initial instructions, but one of the officers in charge of the night shift is close on Purnia’s heels, giving similar orders to them and the few afternooners who have the day off. I’m loathe to leave the live feed, worried as I am about Katniss’s state of mind and the probability of a convenient accident taking her out, much like Titus’s avalanche a few years back. But with everyone else clearing out, I don’t really have a choice.

I’m seated in the briefing room with the others who were already at the barracks when a bunch of our comrades hustle in with Cedric. Darius is among them, but unlike most he does not bother to sit, instead pacing around behind the table closest to the door.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” says Purnia, in a tone that implicitly orders us to quiet down. “A few of you are still unaccounted for, but this matter is urgent so we will start without them.” Her cold green eyes pan across the room, silencing any residual whispers. “As I’m sure all of you are aware by now, a riot has broken out in District 11. According to the latest reports, there has been significant damage to the local infrastructure, and a number of Peacekeepers have been disarmed, wounded, or killed.”

“Which zone?” asks Darius, who has gone from pacing to fidgeting in place.

“Zone B.” As Darius sets his jaw and nods, Purnia continues, “The situation out there is quite dire and escalating quickly. They’ve called for backup, and reinforcements are already mobilizing from the Capitol and District 2. However, they will not arrive for several hours, and in the meantime other outposts in the East have been asked to spare some of their forces.” Eyes sweeping over us, she gets to the point. “We need twenty volunteers. Ideally eight from our shift.”

“Twenty?” gapes Troy. “We’re already outnumbered one hundred to one here.”

“And Katniss is a Twelve,” protests Athena. “If any other district is gonna riot, it’s this one. What’ll we do then?”

“We’re stepping up our presence in the district,” Purnia replies. “Twelve hour shifts and no days off until we are back to full strength.”

Groaning, I drop my forehead to the table. “Seriously?” Today was my day off, to be fair, but I despise long workdays.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Agent. You get paid for the extra hours, just like an IE run. And it should only take a couple days, if that, to restore order. Maybe you’ll all even get to come home as soon as the reinforcements arrive.” The room remains silent, prompting Purnia to sigh. “Do none of you care at all about what’s happening to your comrades out there? I’m going to start picking people to go if no one steps up.”

“I volunteer,” an unlikely voice rings out from across the room, lifting my head just in time to see Darius putting his hand back down.

Though she mostly keeps her tone even, Purnia’s face betrays her surprise. “Okay. Thank you, Agent Hallett. Anyone else?”

Murmurs spread around the room. Athena and Tory share a look before both putting their hands up. “Hell, what’s a little adventure?” Four others follow suit.

“Okay, one more.” My Captain’s eyes flick my way. “Mason? Think a change of scenery could be good for you?”

Cocking a meaningful eyebrow, I remind her, “I’m only useful in the Square, remember?” Her face hardens, but I refuse to wilt.

Frigid gaze still on me, Purnia addresses Troy. “Agent Gebhardt, if you’re so afraid of being outnumbered here, you can go too.” As he rolls his eyes, she announces, “The hovercraft will be leaving in just over ten minutes. Grab anything you need and head to the clearing south of the armory, pronto.”

Darius wheels out of the room, his expression uncharacteristically dark and serious. Getting caught in the rush of bodies, it takes me a minute to catch up. A good minute of stewing in disbelief and some negative emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. Forgoing knocking, I push through his cracked door to find him stuffing a few final things into his overnight bag. “You wanna be riot police, now?” I demand, tone spiking with incredulity. “I thought you never wanted to engage in any violence.”

Barely looking up, Darius states, “I don’t.”

“Then what the shit? Why would you volunteer? You know what they’re gonna ask of you.”

He blinks, finally stopping long enough to look me in the eye. “I have a brother in Eleven B.”

My face falls. “Oh.” Inching closer, I lay a hand on his forearm. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just worried.” Staring down into his bag, Darius heaves a sigh. “Wouldn’t you betray your own morals to protect your family?”

My eyebrows twitch in thought. “Josh, maybe. The rest of them are kind of jerks.”

“My brother’s not. He’s a good guy.” Darius meets my gaze. “And I have to do this.” Brushing by me, he starts toward the common area to gear up.

“Darius!” I call at his back. When he turns around, an unexpected lump lodges in my throat. “Stay safe.”

With a mock salute, he promises, “Yes, ma’am.”

***

The battle in 11B ended before the sun came up, but Purnia informed us in this morning’s briefing that our comrades would be staying a bit longer to help maintain order. What that entails, I can only imagine. I’ve tried not to.

My exhausted crew is mostly in the Commune eating dinner when the high-pitched beeping starts up again and we learn that the casualty list from 11B is being released. That wakes everyone up pretty quickly, glues our eyes to the screens as the names start to roll by.

**Fields, Milo, Outpost 1211: KIA**

Maybe I’m a horrible person, but that makes me smile.

**Fraser, Rex, Outpost 1211: wounded, stable**

I wonder what part of him is wounded. Hopefully his ego. My foot taps out an erratic rhythm as I wait for the H’s to scroll by. A few seconds later, my heart jumps into my throat for an instant at a familiar name.

**Hallett, Julian, Outpost 1123: wounded, stable**

Once I can catch my breath, I’m torn between being grateful Darius is okay and worried about him, as it seems he and his brother are close. But at least they will both survive. The list is rather short, I can tell by how quickly we’re burning through the letters. Most of the casualties were posted in the Eastern districts, suggesting that much of the fighting was over by the time the heavy reinforcements arrived. I’m just turning back to my food when concerned murmurs fill the air and I look up in time to catch one more name at the bottom of the list.

**Vargas, Athena, Outpost 1211: wounded, critical**

My stomach turns and I drop my eyes to the table as the Games coverage resumes. The list is broadcast again at the top of every hour throughout the evening for anyone who missed it and to provide updates on conditions. Athena’s does not change. But I am more concerned about Katniss. She took hours to even move this morning and then lit Rue’s last signal fire, ostensibly to cook some new kills. To me, it looked more like a suicide attempt than a barbecue. Perhaps it was meant to lure in other tributes for her to attack. That is what Cato and Clove thought after the trick the other day, and they stayed put at the Cornucopia.

When the anthem plays, the sky is blank and Katniss is practically asleep, her lethargy from this morning continuing. It’s a miracle I’m awake at all, what with the long day, and I decide now’s as good a time as any to hit the sack. I’m only halfway to the door when the sound of trumpets blasts from the TVs, sucking me right back in. There will be no luring Katniss into a feast what with her hunting skills, but Cato and Clove have all but run out of food. But this announcement does not turn out to be a feast invite. It’s a rule change. As of now, two tributes can be crowned if both originate from the same district.

This causes an immediate stir in the room. A happy one, as most of us have been rooting for the two districts with both tributes remaining. On screen, Clove extends her hand to Cato for a fist bump. “Fuckin’ rights.”

Cato gives her that fist bump but also a little side-eye. “They didn’t do that for us.”

“Who cares? We’re in better shape. Lover Boy’s all but dead.”

Meanwhile, Katniss only now seems to be grasping what this means, whispering Peeta’s name to herself. Her ensuing smile is purposely directed at the sky, but it seems genuine. After lingering on her for a long moment and taking a detour over the dying Peeta, the cameras switch back to the tributes from Two.

“My odds were never accurate,” Clove claims. “My age and size worked against me. Doesn’t matter how good a fighter I am, they always underestimate small tributes.”

Cato squints at his district partner. “Why did you want to volunteer so young, anyway?”

Pitching a knife into her favorite target log, Clove snorts inwardly. “Didn’t.” When she catches Cato’s confused expression, she rolls her eyes. “It was my father’s idea. He thought I was ready.”

It’s a good thing I sat back down after the trumpets, because those words slam me with a head rush and make me sink deeper into the couch.

“You’d be more ready in two years.”

“That’s what I said,” she concurs. “Way he saw it, some younger kids might be more ready. And bigger, which…” She trails off, eyes flicking about as she remembers they are on camera and have secrets to keep from the rest of the country. “Well, it helps.”

Cato gives her a playful smirk. “Wouldn’t have mattered, this year.”

Clove twitches her eyebrows lamely, looking down at her hands. “Dad never liked her, anyway.”

That is absolutely true. The age difference aside, Mr. Kentwell didn’t like his daughter being involved with a fellow candidate, an automatic rival. Neither did my parents, but all they did was quietly disapprove. Until she fucked me over and I had to sit through many a “told-you-so” conversation.

A moment of staring later, Cato surmises, “So the rumors are true. About how you ended up here.” Clove’s jaw tightens, but she denies nothing. “Should I be watching my back?”

Her troubled eyes spark with anger as they jump up to her partner. “Shut up, Cato.” Pushing herself to her feet, she storms away. Not far, of course. Gotta stay close to that bodyguard. Stopping halfway along the side of the Cornucopia, she leans back against the metal surface and sighs. A few seconds pass before her eyes flick skyward and she murmurs, “If you’re watching, I’m sorry.” Blood rushes through my ears, and I barely catch her resigned, “Not that it matters.”

She’s right. It doesn’t matter. It’s too little, far too late. And even if the betrayal wasn’t her idea, she went through with it. So why this ache in my chest?

My mind is on overdrive, and it would keep me up all night were I not so tuckered out. Instead, I pass out hard with the swirling thoughts and face a harsh and confusing dreamscape riddled with old memories. The first time Clove snuck her hand onto my thigh during one of our truck rides. Wrestling matches shifting from competitive to passionate with one catching breath. That night late last August when we snuck into the stockroom of her parents’ shop “for some privacy.” The day she showed me the timestamped security footage. So unaware, I thought she was showing me to turn me on.

“You know, we could probably sell this in the Capitol, Shrimp,” I teased her. “‘Hot District girls getting hard in the hardware store,’ am I right?”

“It would be illegal,” she mumbled, eyes still on the video. “I’m underage.”

“Right.” Suddenly self-conscious, I averted my eyes. “Shit.”

“You could go to jail for this.”

Squinting at my uncharacteristically quiet girlfriend, I gathered, “So you’re saying we should erase it?”

“No.” Turning and crossing her arms, she finally met my gaze. “I’m saying I have copies and I’m prepared to present one to the authorities if you don’t withdraw your application for Designated Volunteer.”

Unable to digest this, all I could do was blink. “What?”

“So are my parents, if anything happens to me.”

Again I blinked hard as the words set in, trying to keep them from doing so. “What?”

“I’m taking your place, Johanna,” she spelled out, clearly frustrated by having to do so. “Because you’ll withdraw or you’ll be locked up. Either way.”

“You’re not fucking serious.” Her stare void of emotions was what finally let me tap into my own. Face burning, I clenched my fists and straightened up to take advantage of all two inches I had on her. “You can’t do this to me.”

“I already have,” was her infuriatingly calm response. “Sorry, Jo, I didn’t want to do this. But it’s done. Let it go.”

“No.” My voice a low growl, I took a dangerous step closer and pointed a finger in her face. “This is my life. I’m not letting anything go.”

“You will.” She said it with the utmost confidence. And she was right. The coldness with which she betrayed me was perhaps the worst part of it. It’s remarkable I’ve been able to trust anyone since then.

I wake up with tears in my eyes and her words still echoing in my ears. Getting out of bed is a struggle, but I force myself to go through the motions. I will not allow her to ruin me again.

***

Katniss awkwardly undressing a boy is one of the more amusing things I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing since she was reaped. She’s been doing it piece by piece since she tracked Peeta down earlier today, cleaning him and treating his various wounds along the way. After waking up from his tracker jacker coma, he camouflaged himself into a bank of mud and weeds near where he’d collapsed, barely able to move on his damaged leg. It was rather skillful and ingenious, but has caused Katniss a lot of trouble between trying to extricate him and then cleaning away all the mud.

Peeta flirts with Katniss a bit as she attempts to treat the deep cut in his leg, I think mostly in a bid to keep her spirits up. Though it admittedly makes me a little jealous, I can appreciate the comic relief, and it seems Katniss does too. If nothing else, it makes keeping up that guise for the audience a bit easier. Clausius and Caesar are eating it up, at least. Their commentary on the adorable star-crossed lovers is mostly annoying, but at least I can find humor in the irony.

The evening gives me much less to laugh about, unfortunately. A short trek downstream to find cover has made Peeta feel very ill, and as Katniss tries to camouflage the mouth of the cave they are hiding in, he starts going on about if he doesn’t make it. That’s rather annoying in itself, but then Katniss kisses him to shut him up. My gut does backflips as she pulls away. “You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?”

“All right,” he whispers.

Meanwhile, I’m breathing deeply to keep myself calm. It’s fine, really. Katniss was going to have to kiss him at some point to maintain the act, and I knew it. So I manage to keep my wits about me, at least until she comes back inside the cave with a pot of sponsor soup and kisses the lethargic boy awake. She uses a lot of kisses as bribes to get him to drink it too, and maybe it’s my imagination, but she seems much more into it after that first kiss. Maybe she really did like it.

The soup takes a good hour to finish, a rather painful hour on my part. Purnia comes in when it’s almost done and kneels beside the couch, leaning over the arm to whisper in my ear. “Knew I’d find you here.”

“Still keeping watch,” I lobby in my own defense.

She shakes her head in a way that I can’t help but interpret as condescending. “Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?”

“Go away, Purnia.” Surprisingly, she does. But once they finish the soup and Peeta drifts off again, I decide it’s all I can stand and put myself to bed. Lying there, trying to force my brain to shut down, I find myself wishing Darius was here. As awkward as discussing my relationship with Katniss can be, he at least is usually willing to help me hash out my feelings, talk things out with me. Purnia mostly makes me feel bad for having feelings at all.

In the morning, I find both girls I’ve loved snuggled up with their male district partners to combat the plummeting overnight temperatures. It’s a lovely kick in the gut before I’m even fully awake. It does make me feel a bit better, though, when Katniss comes back from gathering fruit and Peeta says he was scared Cato and Clove had found her. At the sound of Clove’s name, Katniss’s face darkens and she quickly changes the subject, asking him how he’s feeling. He’s been nursing a fever since before she found him, but he convinces her to go to sleep after guarding him all night. She falls asleep with him stroking her hair, which for some reason bothers me more than all the kissing.

There’s less romantic shit once she wakes up, mostly because she’s too worried about Peeta’s leg, which is swelling up and showing signs of blood poisoning. She indulges his request for a story, though, telling him about when she got Lady for Prim. I’ve never heard the story before, and it makes me smile, especially when her expression goes all sappy like it does whenever she talks about her sister. She’s such a sucker for Prim, it’s adorable.

Shortly after she finishes the story, the trumpets sound again. This time, it is a feast invite. Katniss waves it off at first, until Claudius specifies that it’s not food that’s up for grabs. “Each of you needs something desperately. Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked  
with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance.”

An argument ensues about whether or not Katniss should go fetch what they assume is medicine for Peeta. He insults her lying skills when she tries to pretend she won’t go, which is totally something I would do but irritates me coming from him. When she comes clean, he threatens to crawl after her in the woods and make a ruckus if she leaves, which could easily make the medicine a moot point. Unable to come up with a solution, she grudgingly agrees to stay. I don’t want her to go, but I understand why she wants to. She still feels like she owes him for saving her life - twice, now - and not going would make her unsympathetic and reduce her chances of winning once he inevitably died from the infection. Peeta is either too pig-headed or too delirious to see that.

It’s Haymitch who gives Katniss a way out of the conundrum, sending her down a vial of sleeping syrup. She mixes it up with some mashed berries and gets it down Peeta’s throat before he realizes he’s been drugged. Maybe I’m petty, but watching him glare at her as he fades out of consciousness gives me a swell of satisfaction. Looking down on his limp form, she sasses him, “Who can’t lie, Peeta?” And I break out in a grin. That’s my girl.

Mine.

***

Our troops on loan to District 11 return around nine o’clock our time, their heavy boot steps and tired voices filling the air and drowning out anything on screen. Nothing much of interest has happened lately, anyway, other than Cato and Clove arguing over who should get to kill Katniss in the morning. Cato still has it out for her, but Clove’s point that she can’t handle Thresh by herself and her promise to put on a show for the audience win him over. My stomach has been unsettled ever since. Not just because of the ominous threat, but because tomorrow, one of them will die at the other’s hand. And I can’t not watch.

Though I keep listening for it, I don’t hear Darius’s voice at all, a rare occurrence in his presence. When the flow of incoming bodies seems to have stopped, I decide to go check if he’s in his room. Maybe he stayed behind with his brother or something. I’m only steps from his door when I hear a sharp, muffled sob from the other side. Freezing in my tracks, I wait a moment to listen for any more. All I hear is a few sniffles. After waffling for a second, I step up and knock softly. “Darius?” He goes completely silent, and I knock again. “Darius, I know you’re in there.”

“Leave me alone, Jo. I don’t want to talk.”

I scoff at the hypocrisy of it all. “That didn’t seem to matter all the times you stole Purnia’s key and let yourself in to check on me.”

The bed squeaks and quiet footsteps edge closer. “In my defense, I never stole it,” Darius says from the other side of the door. “She gave it to me.”

Of course she did. Rolling my eyes, I assure him, “Then she’ll give it to me too.”

“Jo, please just let me be.”

I pound my fist on the wood. “Darius, open this goddamn door. Or I’ll break it down with my battle axe.”

His ensuing sigh must be of the resigned variety, because he does as I say. Any tears have been wiped from his cheeks, but his eyes gleam with more yet to fall. He sets his jaw defensively as I look him over. “What do you want?”

Planting my hand on the doorframe, I tilt my head. “What’s wrong?” Averting his eyes, he snuffles back some phlegm and gives his head a tiny shake. Taking my best guess, I inform him, “Thena’s going to be okay. They upgraded her status to ‘stable’ a couple hours ago.”

“I know,” he sighs, retreating into the room.

“Is it Julian?”

Darius turns his head in surprise. “He’s fine.” Slumping down to sit on his bed, he nods for me to come in. “A concussion and a few broken bones, but nothing permanent. He won’t have to be discharged.” Though he appears surprised when I choose to sit beside him instead of on his chair, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Glad to hear it,” I reply noncommittally. Not because I don’t mean it, but because I have a feeling there’s something else not to be glad about.

A long moment of staring at the ground later, Darius finally caves. “I killed someone.” My jaw slips a little. Despite my history, I have no idea what to say in this situation. Maybe that’s why, actually. Killing people was a given. “Some half-wit who didn’t know how to aim a gun. He mostly hit our armor or missed us completely, just one lucky round got in under Athena’s arm, punctured a lung.” Darius slowly shakes his head. “I didn’t even think about it, I just…” Pointing his fingers like a gun, he fires with a weak gunshot sound.

Instinctively I rest a hand on his knee. “It was self-defense.”

“Sort of,” mumbles Darius. “I volunteered to go.”

“To save your brother. I would have gone, if Katniss was in danger.” A moment of thought later, I remark, “Humans do terrible things for the people we love, don’t we? There’s a demon inside all of us.”

“You don’t understand,” he mutters. “You spent years training to be a murderer.”

A chill runs through me and I straighten up, withdrawing my hand. “You’re a Peacekeeper, Darius. A soldier. Tell yourself whatever you want, but this is what you signed up for.”

He grimaces, eyes still on the floor. “So much for keeping the peace.”

“Don’t be so naive,” I snap. “You know the kinds of things they do to maintain peace in the districts.”

Darius nods, staring through the wall. “I do now.” Having had enough of trying to break through his bullshit, I huff and get to my feet. “Jo, wait.” I do, but I pointedly plant my hands on my hips and arch an eyebrow as I turn around. His eyes have finally focused. On me. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Yeah, you think?” I bark. “I’m trying to make you feel better, and you throw that in my face.”

“I never asked you to make me feel better,” he points out. “You can’t, anyway.” Running a hand through his auburn locks, he tries to sigh out the tension in his shoulders. “How are you doing? With everything.”

I cross my arms. “You been watching?”

“I saw Clove talking about her father and Katniss kissing Peeta a bunch. Am I missing anything?”

“No, that’s about it.” My eyes drop to my toe stubbing the carpet. “You don’t think…?”

His head shakes definitively. “No. Katniss loves you. She’s acting.”

“And I was fine with her doing that. It’s a good strategy.” Releasing a frustrated sigh, I sink down beside him and palm my forehead. “There’s just too much going on right now. I feel like I don’t know what’s real.”

Tucking his left heel between his thighs, Darius pivots on his ass to face me. “I’ll tell you what’s real,” he says, taking one of my hands. “Katniss loves you, and Clove betrayed you. Whatever her reasons, she still did that. You were a mess when you came here, because of her. And now you’re okay, and Katniss had a lot to do with that.” With a parting squeeze, he releases my hand. “Just because you can’t trust Clove doesn’t mean you can’t trust her.”

“I’ll never forgive her,” I declare, my tone deathly low and hollow. “I can’t.”

“So don’t. You don’t need to feel sorry for her.”

Eyes squeezing shut, I growl under my breath. When they open, I feel the scowl melting off my face. “But she didn’t want to, you know?”

Darius raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised that matters to you.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “So am I.”

When Darius asks again to be left alone, I respect his wishes this time, returning to my own quarters. But sleep is out of the question tonight. My mind will not be silenced, so I settle down with a novel to distract it. Eventually I’m too tired to read and need to shut my eyes, but even once I’m that exhausted, sleep will not come. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Tomorrow is a day off. If I slept through my alarm, totally plausible in my current state, I could very well wake up and find Katniss already dead.

Around four in the morning, I wander into the Commune for a hot drink. As expected, Katniss is awake too, unwilling to miss dawn. The lone sleeping tribute is Clove, and she’s only able to because Cato will wake her for dawn or to switch off being on watch. Thresh and Finch are both sneaking around to get into position, while Katniss is in her sleeping bag stealing as much of Peeta’s fever heat as she can.

She gets up before long, taking his jacket with her and crafting makeshift fingerless gloves out of Rue’s socks. Creative. She opts to travel light on most supplies but heavy on weapons, leaving Marvel’s spear for Peeta but taking his knives, tucking them in her belt along with the big one Clove inadvertently gave her in the bloodbath. It doesn’t occur to me that I feel like I’m actually watching Katniss until she stops on her way out and turns back to give the sleeping Peeta this overly long, dramatic kiss. There’s fake Katniss again. She would never do that, not even to me.

Katniss’s night-vision goggles allow her to travel at a good clip, and I know she’ll make it in plenty of time. All the other tributes are already positioned on or near the plain, so unless she meets some kind of predator in the woods, she’s safe for the next little while. Tapping my foot in thought, I refill my mug and then head back to my room for my jacket and outdoor shoes.

A short time later, I arrive at the Everdeens’ door and walk right in without knocking, as I am now in the habit of doing. Also I don’t want to wake them, if by some miracle they are sleeping. They aren’t. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” drawls Mrs. Everdeen from where she sits at the table, engrossed in a game of cards with Prim. “I was wondering when you’d show up again.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, shrugging my shoulders up to my chin. “I’ve been working twelve-hour days.”

Prim squints curiously. “Why?”

“Peacekeeper things.” Prohibited from divulging any more, I take my time chugging what’s left of my coffee. Coming closer to place the mug on the table, I only now register the candlelight. My face falls. “I wanted to come watch the feast with you, but looks like you’re under blackout right now.”

“Power will be back by dawn,” replies Mrs. Everdeen. “Always is, for the Games. But we were planning to go watch in the Square anyway.”

I blink. “Why?”

“Clearer, bigger picture.”

“And I’ll have friends there,” adds Prim. Turning in her chair, she looks me over. “Is it okay for you to be seen in public with us?”

Weighing my options, I muse, “Maybe I’ll dress down again.”

Her brow knits. “Again?”

“How else do you think I visited Katniss on Reaping Day?” I scoff. “You think I went in my uniform?”

“Good point.”

This is perhaps another stupid move on my part, but I want to watch the event with people who will understand the impact on me. Even my comrades who know about Katniss and I don’t share the same connection with her. I need to be with people who are feeling what I’m feeling, at least to some degree.

About an hour after dawn, we put the cards down and head for the Square. Once again I am clad in Katniss’s hunting jacket and cap, as well as a pair of her pants rolled up at the bottom. It’s not a very thorough disguise, but I doubt many people will be looking at me, anyway. Plenty of action onscreen to occupy them.

Turns out, that’s not entirely accurate. The Everdeens attract a lot of attention from the crowd gathering to watch on the large screens. It’s a Sunday, and even though the sky is only starting to lighten in the arena, the Square in Twelve is already teeming with bodies. I sort of drift away from the blondes and keep my head down as people come by to offer them comfort and good luck. Prim glances around to set eyes on me every once in a while, make sure I’m still there. But I’m not going anywhere. As dawn in the arena creeps closer and people stop socializing in favor of watching the feed, I return to Prim’s side and silently take her hand. She squeezes back, harder than I expected, sending my heart soaring and sinking all at once.

As the sun crests the horizon, Katniss is situated in the same cluster of bushes where she hid after the bombing, eyes on the Cornucopia. Clove, having guessed the general direction she will come from, is hidden just around the back corner, an eye on the woods. Concealed inside the Cornucopia is Finch, apparently primed to grab her bag and run. The two boys are a little farther off, which makes me feel a bit better. As much as I consider Clove to be the biggest threat to Katniss overall, in a close-combat situation I would rather Katniss fight her than either of those giants. Thresh is waiting near where the forest meets the field of tall grasses, where he can see both Clove and Cato, who is squatting at the edge of the field in anticipation of Thresh. He has the best lay of the land of anyone.

As soon as the banquet table rises from the plain, Finch bolts out of the Cornucopia and nabs the backpack marked with her district number, making a break for it while Katniss and Thresh stare in amazement. Clove has no angle to see her until she’s halfway to the woods, and all she can do at that point is shake her head. Besides, if she tried to throw a knife, she’d reveal her position to her real target. Katniss, who looks almost pissed off as she watches the sly redhead disappear. With a hard blink, Katniss snaps back into focus and sprints onto the plain without delay.

My heart jumps into my throat as I watch Clove step around the edge of the Cornucopia and ready a knife. As it flies straight at Prim’s sister, I find I’m the one squeezing her hand as though it’s my flesh and blood on the line. Fortunately, Katniss hears the knife coming and deflects it, sending an arrow back at her assailant. Clove turns to avoid the shot at her heart, but the arrow catches her left arm and she decides to stop long enough to pull it out, giving Katniss a few seconds to reach the table. Slipping the tiny 12 backpack onto her arm, Katniss turns to shoot just in time to avoid a direct hit from Clove’s next knife, but it slashes across her forehead in passing and sends blood streaming down over her right eye and into her mouth.

Stumbling backward and halfway blinded by her own blood, Katniss fires off an errant shot. With no time to draw another arrow from behind, as a last ditch defense she plucks a small knife from her belt and backhands it at the oncoming girl. It sticks in Clove’s leg, forcing her to pull up and rip it out angrily before rushing Katniss, who’s now had a second to right herself and wipe blood from her eyes. Katniss leads Clove’s momentum into a throw, sending the smaller girl flying past her and sprawling on her stomach, then immediately runs for the treeline. Scowling as she pops up onto her knees, Clove pivots and pitches the knife still in her hand straight into Katniss’s left buttcheek.

Back arching reflexively, Katniss falls to her knees with a yelp of surprise and pain, dropping her bow. In the time it takes her to curse and yank the knife out, Clove has closed the gap. Katniss is just reaching for the bow when she’s tackled from behind, landing facedown on the plain. Snagging Clove’s uninjured right arm before she can grab another knife, Katniss pins it to the ground and rolls forward, landing on top of Clove but still in her grasp. She throws an elbow to the face to buy enough time to turn over, but Clove promptly ties up her legs and flips them again. They scuffle awhile longer, Katniss taking a few swipes with the bloody knife that Clove easily blocks. Clove may be more skilled at hand-to-hand, but Katniss has size and reach advantages that level the field and allow her to prolong the fight.

Observing the two girls embroiled in combat on the ground, Thresh decides now is the time to make a run for his own backpack. At least, I hope he’s only going for the backpack. In the bloodbath, he only cut down people in his way, not going out of his way to make kills. Of course, at this late stage of the Games, that could change.

Completely oblivious to the hulking boy coming onto the scene, Katniss focuses all her attention on Clove as she finally manages to pin her with her superior body weight. She tucks the knife back in her belt, looking more annoyed than anything. “You couldn’t just let it go, huh?” she pants as she bleeds all over Clove. “It’s not like I was taking your pack.”

Raising a sassy eyebrow to hide her fear, Clove parries, “Taking the medicine to Lover Boy. Don’t want that.”

Katniss scoffs. “I don’t need him to win. You have no idea who you’re messing w-” She has to cut herself off as Clove attempts an evasive move. It’s in vain, with Katniss swiftly securing an arm each under her left boot and right knee.

Panic fills Clove’s face as she realizes this is not something she can escape on her own. “Cato!” she screams. “Ca-”

Katniss clamps a bloody glove over Clove’s mouth, but Cato has already heard her. “Clove!” he calls back as he sprints for the Cornucopia. “I’m coming!” Unfortunately for Clove, he’s too far away to be of much help.

Katniss seems to realize this, a tiny smirk curling one side of her mouth. Pulling the large knife she acquired on day one from her belt, she holds it tauntingly above Clove’s face. “Thanks for the gift, by the way.” She cocks her head. “Gifts.” That makes Clove blink in confusion, which Katniss seems only too happy to clear up. “I’ll tell Jo you said hi.”

Clove’s eyes blink once and then go wide. “It’s not what you-”

That’s all she gets out before the butt of Katniss’s knife collides with her temple, halfway knocking her out. As Clove groans and blinks woozily, Katniss hisses, “I don’t care.” Her fist smashes into Clove’s face a handful of times, until blood dribbles out her nose and she seems satisfactorily subdued. Then, flipping the knife in her grasp, Katniss backhand slashes it across Clove’s throat, spraying herself in the traitor’s blood.

For a couple seconds, the world swirls around me and I almost sink to the cobblestones. Prim’s tight grip is all that grounds me and keeps me upright. Perhaps I should be satisfied to see the life draining out of Clove’s eyes as the blood spews from her neck and fills her mouth. All I feel is grief and nausea.

As Clove loses consciousness completely, her head lolling to the side, Katniss’s face falls. Her expression morphs from anger to horror in two seconds, cheeks draining of color as she stares at the dying girl beneath her. Glancing to my left, I take in a similarly appalled look on her mother’s face, while Prim’s expression rests somewhere between confusion and sadness. Slowly they both turn their heads to me, seeking an explanation. I have only one.

We do terrible things for the people we love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay. Half of this chapter has been written for months, but I wanted to finish Lifeblood before I posted it. Now that Lifeblood is done, this is the main fic I'll be working on, so hopefully you all can expect more frequent updates.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta reads and helping me trim the fat from this already lengthy chapter.


	19. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you all you could expect more frequent updates. ;)
> 
> As mentioned before, I tend to favor book canon but include aspects of both book and movie. The bulk of this chapter is canon-adjacent to chapters 22-25 of THG and the same time period in the movie, with some changes as necessitated by earlier changes to the storyline. Some scenes are only partly described to show changes to them and are otherwise summarized, so if you want a deeper description of what's happening or Katniss's motives/headspace, that's where to find it. That said, there is also plenty of original content and it's all about how Johanna experiences it.

Katniss’s eyes do not stray from the bleeding tribute pinned beneath her until a rustle from the banquet table makes her head whip around. In the few seconds it takes Thresh to wrangle his arms through the District 2 backpack’s straps to settle it on top of his own, Katniss has crawled the three feet to where her bow still lies on the ground. But by the time she arms it, he’s readied a knife to throw. They stare each other down for a few seconds, until Cato’s voice breaks their stalemate.

“Clove!” he calls, the pain tangible in his voice. He’s in view now, close enough to see Clove on the ground, and rapidly approaching spear-throwing range.

Katniss’s eyes bounce from Cato to Thresh to the empty table. They lock with Thresh’s once more before flicking to the woods and back. Then, coming to an unspoken agreement like Katniss did with Finch on the first day, she and Thresh each turn and bolt. Thresh with Cato’s backpack, and Katniss with the blood of his partner advertising her guilt. Knowing Cato’s emotional streak, I think he’s more likely to pursue revenge than supplies, so I can only hope Katniss’s speed isn’t too hampered by her lower body injury. She’s in no shape to fight Cato with blood seeping into her eye and out of her butt.

When Cato reaches Clove, he kneels beside her and lays a hand just below her collarbone, watching helplessly as what’s left of her blood flows out of her neck and soaks the ground. There’s no point trying to stop it. She can’t be saved. His breathing is already heavy from the run, but it sharpens as anger takes over his eyes, quickly followed by grief. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t have let you take her on alone.” As if on cue, the cannon sounds and Cato drops his face to his palm.

A moment passes before Cato reaches down to close Clove’s eyes. The tears in his own eyes come as a surprise to many, judging from the hushed whispers around the Square, but not to me. Cato may be cast as a big brute with no feelings, but it’s simply inaccurate. His emotions are part of what makes him such a ferocious warrior, but they’re also his greatest weakness. Giving his partner a final nod of respect, Cato steps over her and walks toward the edge of the plain, looking back and forth between the woods and the field. His sharp breathing has made a comeback, matching the hatred burning in his gaze. Much to my relief, after stopping and taking a moment to quiet it, he turns to the field and follows Thresh’s trail.

“Thank heavens,” sighs Mrs. Everdeen, speaking for all of us.

Katniss, of course, has no idea whom Cato has chosen to pursue. She’s doing her best to avoid leaving a blood trail as she runs, but it’s a challenge with two open wounds. Trying to mop up the blood from her head with one sock-glove, she shoves the other into her pants. Thresh seems much less panicked as he zigzags his way back to his camp, trying to elude Cato.

The shot returns to the plain as Clove’s hovercraft appears and secures her in its claw. As she is reeled up into the air, her head tips back, opening up the gash in her neck. Thankfully I don’t actually throw up this time, but do I taste bile, tears stinging my eyes. My closing throat forces a thick swallow as they start to fall. Despite the gruesome sight, I wipe my eyes and force them to stay open so I don’t miss the last shots anyone will ever see of Clove. For some reason, I feel like I owe her that. The bottom of the hovercraft closes underneath her, and the claw sets her mutilated body on the floor. Then the cameras return to the arena, and she’s gone.

“Bye, Shrimp,” I whisper. Prim hears my words, I know because I feel her eyes land on me immediately, but she doesn’t say anything. All she does is squeeze my hand as post-feast coverage commences.

The cameras follow the tributes somewhat, but we see a lot of Caesar, Claudius, and their guest commentators as they break down the events of the past eight minutes. Did it really happen that fast? Very little of what they say is intelligent or at all interesting to me, but there is a scary moment during their analysis of the bloody duel between Clove and Katniss, when Claudius remarks, “And who is this Joe fellow, anyway?”

“Probably one of the instructors they worked with in the Training Center,” Caesar ponders offhandedly, though his expression holds more concern than his tone. No one can think of any better explanation, or if they can, they think better than to voice it. Even the suggestion of a Peacekeeper fraternizing with his district’s citizens would not reflect well on the Capitol. Besides, the fact that most of us do not originate from the Capitol is generally kept under wraps. My ensuing chuckle is mostly one of relief, with a hint of amusement over the gender confusion.

After about half an hour of floundering through the forest and the stream, Katniss makes it to the cave. She’s shaking, probably due to blood loss as much as fear, but steadies her hands enough to shoot the needle of medicine from the backpack into Peeta’s arm. She passes out only moments later. The Thresh and Cato show has also hit a lull, so the commentators declare this the end of their feast coverage, promising upcoming replays of the feast and the remaining tributes’ friends and family interviews. The crowd starts to thin out, and Mrs. Everdeen suggests we head home.

When we arrive at the house, I wordlessly go upstairs to change back into my regulation clothes. Though I can hear the Everdeens talking quietly while I’m up in the loft, as I descend the stairs the room is dead silent but for the electronic hum of the muted TV. Buttercup is the first to speak, meowing as he hops down from Prim’s lap and trots over to me, rubbing aggressively against my shins until I bend down to pick him up.

“You knew Clove.” Prim’s voice finally sounds as I’m straightening back up.

“I told you that, remember?” Her eyes press for further explanation as I stroke her cat, and I sigh. “We used to date. She betrayed me and took my pl-” Catching myself, I take a moment to give Buttercup a kiss and form a better ending to that sentence. “She took my plans for the future.”

“That’s why you know how to use so many weapons,” says Mrs. Everdeen. “Why you know so much about the Games. It’s you she was talking about.” Other than gulping, I stand still as a statue under her penetrating gaze. “You were going to volunteer. Weren’t you?”

My eyes fall and shoulders droop shamefully. “Yes, ma’am.” Please, for the love of god do not ask what Clove did to me. That’s not something I’m at all comfortable discussing with my current girlfriend’s mother.

“Well, it’s a good thing she did,” she remarks. “Betray you, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Avoiding eye contact with everyone, I shuffle over to Prim and deposit the cat in her lap. “I’m gonna go home.”

That must have had some ominous finality to it, according to Prim’s bewildered response. “To Two?”

I snort under my breath. “No, the barracks. Closest thing I got.”

“You don’t need to leave,” Mrs. Everdeen tells me, inching closer.

“Yeah, I do.” Still refusing any eye contact, I stride out the door and into the road without looking back.

Why do I even feel this way? Is it all the awful things I’ve thought about Clove that were only partly true? Honestly, the fact that she wasn't always planning to screw me over makes the whole thing even harder to swallow. She really did want me, care for me, but still she was swayed to betray me. Scar may have been right about her being the one to watch out for. Until now. Katniss took that mantle along with Clove’s life. Of course, Katniss had already killed half the Career Pack heading into the feast, so it’s not as though she didn’t have people talking. Her previous kills gave her credibility as a survivor and a warrior, and significantly bolstered her betting odds. None of them bothered me, either. But something about her interaction with Clove has left me extremely unsettled.

A wet blanket of dread hangs over me as I reach the barracks, the prospect of being alone right now too much to handle. But I couldn’t stay with the Everdeens after what we just watched together, knowing my part in it. Barring my semi-regular alcohol abuse, typically I’d go to the gym to exercise away a bad mood, but I’ve been up for over 24 hours and am both mentally and physically exhausted. 

After dropping the mug off in the kitchen and dumping my jacket in my room, I pause outside Darius’s door. He wasn’t in the briefing today, I assume because Purnia gave him the day off. But if last night was any indication, he’s not going to be good company right now. And in his condition, I don’t want to bother him with any more of my problems.

Moments later, I’m knocking on Purnia’s door. The sound from her TV wafting through the wooden barrier abruptly stops, replaced by the squeaks of her mattress and floor. The door swings open and, despite her raised eyebrows, she doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see me. “Mason.”

“Stark.” Her eyes narrow slightly at my sassy tone, but she steps aside to let me in anyway. As I take in her quarters, a soft whistle passes my lips. It’s at least twice as big as my room, not even including the attached bathroom at the back. Besides the TV, it includes a queen-sized bed and a sitting area with a collection of plush-looking chairs and a small coffee table. And an actual closet with doors, oh the luxury. It’s one of the interior rooms that lack windows, containing only a skylight for ventilation. But otherwise, it’s top notch. “Jeez, how many dicks do I have to suck to get a place like this?”

“You’re slipping, Mason.” Glancing her way, I find her expression as flat as her tone. “Usually when you’re crass, you’re at least halfway funny.”

“Yeah, I’m not at my best today. Haven’t slept since Friday night.” Eyeing the ceiling, I study the folding ladder beside the skylight, its rope hanging down above the bed for quick access. “What’s with the ladder?”

“Fire safety,” explains Purnia. “In case the door is blocked.”

“Now I kinda wish I had a skylight room instead. Party on the roof.”

“You didn’t come here to talk about my room.”

“Always so to the point,” I sigh. Dropping the facade and any pretenses, I meet her gaze once more. “You watch the feast?”

She nods and gestures toward the chairs. Once we’re both seated, she says, “I’m sure that was hard to watch. But Clove had to die if Katniss was going to come home.”

“I know,” I reply, staring at my hands. After a long delay, I finally find the words to articulate why I feel so guilty. “I turned my girlfriend into a monster.”

“She’s not a monster. She’s human.” When I fail to respond, Purnia lays a hand on my knee. “Look, if someone hurt Jason, I’d do far worse than that, and not even feel sorry.” I look up in surprise to find her expression gentle but serious. “And I’d enjoy it twice as much.”

“I bet you would.” My salacious wink prompts an eye roll in return.

“Katniss reacted the way you’re supposed to when you take someone’s life. Same as Darius.” Purnia gives my thigh a reassuring squeeze. “You haven’t ruined her, Johanna.”

“That’s what you think. But she might feel ruined when she wakes up and has to face what she’s done. And she did it because of me.”

“She killed Clove because Clove wouldn’t let her go. She didn’t have a choice,” argues Purnia. “She did nothing wrong.”

“Other than enjoy it,” I mumble. “If only for a moment.”

“You can’t help someone else’s personality, Jo. And like I said, it’s not abnormal to have a vengeful streak toward people who hurt your loved ones.” She cocks her head. “Maybe the problem is more that you can’t forgive yourself for wanting to be in the Games.”

My eyebrows twitch half-heartedly. “Could be part of it.”

“We’re all products of our environment,” says Purnia. I throw her a questioning look, so she elaborates, “You didn’t grow up here. You wanted to volunteer because that’s what your society told you was the most worthwhile thing you could do with your life.”

“I could have stopped and thought about it,” I counter. “Katniss is right, I was totally brainwashed.”

“Exactly,” she pronounces. “You really think that’s your fault?”

I give a weak shrug. “I could have done better.”

“Well, you didn’t. So what are you going to do about it? Forgive yourself and try to do better now, or wallow in shame for the rest of your life?” Purnia nods down the hall. “What good do you think it’s doing for Darius right now?”

“Then why did you give him the day off?” I retort.

“I was hoping a good night’s sleep might help him. And don’t change the subject.”

With a heavy sigh, I mull this over silently a moment before proceeding to think out loud. “I always defend Scarlett Caskey when Katniss brings her up, and she’s actually killed people. It’s just so much harder to have that sympathy for yourself.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“I don’t know if I can face her when she gets back,” I confess. “What if she hates me for infecting her with bloodlust?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” scoffs Purnia.

“Am I? Victors, sometimes they come back… wrong. Can’t think straight.” Scar seemed fine the few times I’ve spoken to her since her victory, but the other two victors I was in the program with were very different after their Games. Skittish and subdued. One of them appeared totally normal until she spontaneously burst into tears while teaching us hand-to-hand the following year. She started to hyperventilate with wild eyes, lost sense of where she was and had to be dragged from the mat screaming in terror. That was the last time I ever saw her at the Academy. The other, he picked up a few nervous tics but was mostly excessively quiet and serious compared to before. Like a Cato to Thresh swing in personality.

The trainers and program brass tried to downplay these changes, but they spoke for themselves. I think that’s why a number of candidates dropped out following both of those victorious years. It wasn’t enough to scare me off, though in hindsight maybe it should have been. At this point I’m just terrified of what will become of Katniss, now that she’s engaged in close combat and killed somebody in cold blood.

“It happens in the Corps too,” admits Purnia. “Some Peacekeepers end up having to go see head doctors. Secretly, of course. If word gets out you can’t handle the more violent aspects of the job, you can be discharged.” She nods down the hall. “Another reason I told Darius to stay out of sight.”

“Probably smart,” I mumble.

“But that’s far from being ‘infected with bloodlust,’” she assures me. “And I’m sure that when Katniss gets back, if she has problems she’ll want your support. Need it, even. Katniss loves you. She’ll want to see you.”

I nod with as little confidence as I feel. “I sure hope so.”

***

More than a day passes before Katniss wakes up. Darius was back to work this morning, and appeared to be fine other than his continued reluctance to socialize. However, I do drag him into the Commune in the mid afternoon. Thresh currently holds the screen, shivering under his new sleeping bag that he’s draped over a section of tall grass to provide a little cover from the rain. The ground under him is only getting muddier, and I’m sure he’s wishing the Gamemakers had sent him a tent instead. After a few minutes, the shot switches back to the cave, just as Katniss is coming to.

“How long have I been out?” she croaks at Peeta.

“Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and found you lying here, covered in blood.”

“Not all of it’s mine.” Katniss lifts a hand to her head wound, feeling the bandage he secured there last night. Even moving that much appears to make her woozy.

“Easy,” Peeta urges her, holding a water bottle to her lips. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” His slight nod to the side prompts Katniss to glance over and see the pools of blood left by her two wounds.

Katniss’s brow furrows as she continues to chug the water offered to her, and her left hand slides into the back of her pants to check on the second one. Her eyebrows arch as she finds the dressing Peeta wedged between her underwear and her ass, and she pulls back. “You didn’t cop a feel, did you?”

Peeta’s light blush shows up easily on his pale skin. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Uh huh,” she retorts with playful suspicion. She doesn’t say much more once Peeta starts feeding her from what’s left of their food supplies, but she does observe that he’s feeling better and he admits to eating a bunch of it. She also complains that her feet are freezing, so after a bit of food and plenty of water, he opens the sleeping bag and rubs some warmth into them with his bare hands, then wraps them in his jacket.

“Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather’s not helping much,” he explains as he tucks the sleeping bag up around her chin again. “I wonder what brought on this storm? I mean, who’s the target?”

“Cato and Thresh. Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove…”

When Katniss trails off, Peeta tells her, “I know Clove’s dead. I saw it in the sky last night.” He squints, examining her blank face. “Did you kill her?”

“Yeah.” Katniss barely grunts out the word, avoiding his gaze. As she shifts her weight to move, a yelp pops from her lungs and she looks down at the wound in her ass. “Shit.” Unzipping the sleeping bag again, she gingerly rolls onto her hands and knees and unbuckles her belt. Peeta doesn’t seem to realize he’s staring until she shoots him a glare, prompting him to blink away with an even stronger blush than before. Easing the hems of her pants and undershorts away from her skin, Katniss sits up on her knees in an attempt to get a better view of the wound, with limited success. Finally she tries touching it, resulting in a sharp breath and a wince.

“You okay?” asks Peeta, still pointedly looking away.

“It’s pretty deep,” Katniss tells him. “The knife was in her before it was in me. I have to disinfect it.” She snorts. “Hopefully it’s not too late - I shot all the medicine into you already.”

“Time for more tracker jacker leaves?”

“Not yet. I’m not so keen on cleaning up pus that oozed out of my butt,” cracks Katniss. “I’ll just dilute some iodine, hope that does the trick.” Peeta takes that as his cue to bring over the iodine and one of the bottles of water, sparing Katniss the movement. After mixing a small amount of solution in the broth pot, she dips a clean dressing in and tries to dab at the wound, but she’s still a little weak and unsteady. Using her left hand blindly would be difficult enough even when healthy.

“Do you need help?” asks Peeta. Katniss narrows her eyes and he adds, “In a non-perverted way, I swear.”

Katniss appears to think this over for a moment, but eventually nods. “Yes,” she mutters. “Please.” As Peeta comes around behind her, she lets her pants fall to her knees and peels back the bottom hem of the undershorts. Peeta takes the dressing and douses it, then squeezes it into the wound to rinse it out, grabbing his jacket to shield her pants from the runoff down her thigh. Katniss grimaces with discomfort as he begins to clean a little deeper, but doesn’t complain. Eventually she sinks down onto her hands and knees, letting him handle the underwear too.

“She really did a number on you, huh?” observes Peeta, breaking the awkward silence.

Katniss smirks at the ground. “Yeah, she was a real pain in the ass.”

After pausing a second in surprise, Peeta snickers as he resumes his work. “Well played.”

“Thank you. I try.”

Dabbing up the residual disinfectant and some fresh blood, Peeta presses a new dressing to the wound. As he rips some pieces of tape to secure it properly this time, he remarks, “Well, at least you’re alive. Better than her.”

While Peeta carefully attaches the bandage, Katniss’s smile fades. Her face slowly crumples as tears pool in her eyes and drop to the cave floor. She starts to shake, trying to hold in any noises. Peeta looks up in concern as he finishes. “Katniss?” Crawling around to see her face, he tips her chin up and meets her eyes. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Katniss shakes her head, unable to speak. Peeta calmly rubs his thumb over her cheekbone until she regains control of her breathing and looks up with a shudder. Her voice almost breaks as she laments, “I want to go home, Peeta.”

“You will. I promise,” says Peeta, trailing his fingers down her jaw.

“I want to go home now,” she whines.

Peeta’s eyes roam over her face a moment, then he leans in and kisses her on the lips. He lingers there, and when she pecks his lips in return, he cups her jaw and deepens the kiss slightly, slipping his tongue just past her lips. She responds in kind for a moment before breaking contact, tipping her forehead to rest against his. Moving his hand to stroke her hair, Peeta murmurs, “Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you’ll be there for real before you know it. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Wake me if you need me to keep watch.”

As she inches back into the sleeping bag, Peeta lifts a saucy eyebrow. “I’m good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long this will last?”

Hopefully not long. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. Glancing over at Darius, I sass him, “Still think she’s acting?” His only answer is a silent blink. “Yeah. I can’t tell either.”

***

It’s well past my bedtime as I enter the Hob late that night, but it’s not like I’m going to be sleeping well anyway, with what just transpired. After tonight’s anthem, Katniss and Peeta had somewhat of an emotional conversation, one in which she almost admitted to being scared to lose him. Her stumbling over her words made it more believable, at least from my view. How many times has she struggled to articulate her feelings for me? Peeta started kissing her again too, adding insult to injury, and that’s when I decided I couldn’t just sit there watching anymore. I need to do something. I need answers.

Greasy Sae is packing up for the night as I approach her stall, but looks up in time to see me coming. “Agent Mason,” she smiles. “How are you?”

“Is that a joke?” I snap. She cocks an unimpressed eyebrow, forcing my eyes away momentarily. Clearing my throat, I meet her gaze once again. “Can you send another sponsor gift from the Hob fund?”

“With what money?” she scoffs.

“This.” Reaching into my pocket, I slap a fistful of bills on her counter. “That’s 800 dollars. Use as much as you need to get what I want.”

Greasy Sae seems caught between surprise and intrigue. “What did you have in mind?” My request seems to perplex her, but she nods anyway and promises to go in the morning.

She keeps her word. It’s shortly after 8 AM when she finds me in the Square on her way out of the Justice Building. “Six fifty,” she says, handing back the extra. “Prices are really high, this late in the Games.”

Pleasantly surprised, I nod. “I know. Surprised 650 covered it.”

“Seems a lot to spend on junk food,” the merchant remarks with a scrutinizing squint. “I would have sent something with more staying power.”

“It’s not the nutritional value I’m concerned with,” I retort. “I want to see how she reacts.”

“All right,” she shrugs. “Your money, Agent.”

The day rolls on but my gift isn’t delivered. Much of the coverage is on Thresh and Cato, the latter of whom returned to the Cornucopia last night when the rain turned heavier. He seems to debate going back out to hunt again, but thinks better of it. Thresh, meanwhile, has long given up on the sleeping bag solution, having ventured into the forest at first light looking for better shelter. He finds nothing but more mud. It dawns on me that the rain is intended to drive him to the one place he knows he can find shelter: the Cornucopia. The storm seemed pointless until I realized this, seeing as it only functioned to keep the players apart and force the “star-crossed lovers” to snuggle together for warmth with their sleeping bag wrapped around them. It’s not like they’re getting any action, so that’s hardly interesting either. Only barf-worthy.

It’s about noon in the arena when Thresh starts sneaking closer to the Cornucopia, apparently resigned to facing Cato in a battle for shelter. It’s Cato’s home base, but Thresh has the element of surprise, plus the body armor that was intended for Cato hidden under his clothes. After gearing down, I join the large crowd in the Commune to watch the showdown.

It’s gory close combat, the kind of thing people love to watch in the Hunger Games. Cato is caught by surprise when Thresh whips around the corner and into his hideout, but he’s several feet back from the entrance and at least has a chance to get to his feet. It takes a few jabs with his sword for him to realize Thresh is wearing armor, and by then he’s already been cut. Trying to minimize his disadvantage, Cato wrestles Thresh to the ground and starts pummeling his face, eventually dazing him enough to knock away his weapons. In a poor position to get leverage to snap his large opponent’s neck, Cato opts to kneel on his arms and strangle him to death. It’s gruesome and I find it more disturbing than I would have a year ago, but some deeply ingrained impulse will not allow me to look away.

Panting and bloodied, Cato strips Thresh to his underwear to retrieve the armor, then drags the body out onto the muddy plain for the hovercraft to pick up. As he returns to his sitting position against the wall of the Cornucopia, I sigh with what must be relief. It is a relief, in a sense. I don’t particularly like Cato, but we were part of the same social circle, rivals and frenemies for a long time. If Katniss or Clove didn’t win, I wanted it to be him. Plus, I would rather Katniss and Peeta face the devil I know. But that reminder of Cato’s brute strength is enough to send chills through me, knowing what Katniss and Peeta are up against. At least there’s two of them and Katniss has her range-fighting ability.

Little else happens for the rest of the day, but I keep watching in hopes I will see my gift delivered. I can’t count on replays to show me all the details of Katniss’s reaction. In the meantime I have to sit through another awful conversation when Katniss asks Peeta how long he’s had a crush on her. God, is she trying to make this as difficult for me as possible? Peeta starts into this story about their first day of school and how he fell for her when he heard her singing, and it’s so gross. Admittedly a bit cute, but gross.

“You have a… remarkable memory,” Katniss says when he’s done.

“I remember everything about you,” says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

“I am now.”

“Well, I don’t have much competition here,” he points out.

Swallowing hard, Katniss tells him, “You don’t have much competition anywhere.” This time, it’s her who leans in for the kiss. I can’t even believe what I’m seeing, can hardly process it. My head is spinning and I have no one here for support. Darius is hiding away again, Athena’s rehabilitating in the Capitol, and Purnia is who knows where. I’m contemplating walking out when the clunk of a basket landing outside breaks the cave dwellers apart. Katniss’s bow is up in a flash, but when only silence follows, Peeta pokes his head outside.

Letting out a whoop, Peeta crawls out of the narrow opening Katniss left in the rocks and hands the basket back through the hole. Katniss rips it open immediately and finds a collection of food, including a tureen of that lamb stew she keeps raving about. Much to my annoyance, my gift does not seem to be in the basket. Wriggling back inside, Peeta beams, “I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve.”

“I guess so.”

As Peeta removes the plates and cutlery packed in with the food, he notices something tucked behind the tureen and pulls it out. Peeking into the small waxed paper bag, he gasps. “No way! We even got dessert!” Katniss blinks up, and I lean in in anticipation. Holding the bag open toward her so she can see the chocolate croissant inside, Peeta tells her, “My dad makes these too. They’re delicious.” Katniss looks stunned, jaw slipping open as she stares into the bag. She doesn’t say a word, but within seconds a single tear is rolling down her cheek. “Wow,” remarks Peeta, “you must really hate croissants.”

Shaking herself back to her senses, Katniss blinks hard. “No, I love them.” Looking skyward, she says it more deliberately this time. “I love them.” If I weren’t already smiling from the reassurance, I’d have to at her ingenuity. To the average viewer, she could be making sure a sponsor knows how grateful she is in hopes of retaining their goodwill. But I know that it’s directed at me. That it’s about me. Looking back to Peeta, she smiles. “I love them more than anything.”

“More than anything?” he inquires playfully. “More than your sister?”

Katniss directs her smirk to the ground. “Okay, maybe not anything.”

Peeta tips her chin up so she can see his devilish grin. “More than me?”

She gives an awkward chuckle and blinks away. “Hah, yes. More than you.” But she manages to save the moment by sticking her tongue out at him, playing it all off as some kind of game.

“Well, now I know the way to your heart,” winks Peeta. “When we get home, I’ll make sure you’re never in short supply.”

A weak smile turns Katniss’s lips. “Thanks. That’s sweet of you.” Leaning closer, she gives his cheek a quick peck and pulls away just as fast, gesturing at the food. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

Katniss is noticeably more reserved with affection after that point, at least to me. She lets Peeta hold her and asks if he noticed any other girls in school, trying to keep things going, but there’s a hesitance there now that was lacking before. Good. I know she never forgot about me, but if she can feel me watching her, all the better. Maybe I shouldn’t be distracting her from the act that could save her life, but I never claimed to be perfect.

It’s more of the same in the morning, Katniss avoiding too much kissing a couple times, using the excuse that they’re wasting hunting time. Peeta takes the spear when they’re packed up and ready to leave, and Katniss is also quick to give up the knife she got in the bloodbath. The murder weapon, for lack of a better term. She still has the smaller knives more suited for throwing as well as her bow, so she can afford to lose it anyway.

It turns out Peeta wastes hunting time no matter what. He has an incredibly noisy tread that can only be partly due to his injured leg, loud enough to scare off game even once Katniss suggests they take their shoes off. Not that she needs to. She’s nursing a lower body injury too but is silent as ever. Peeta’s conspicuous footsteps alert Finch to their presence as well when they pass by close to her hideout, and she creeps out and follows them at a distance. It makes me a tad nervous, but she’s no fighter, and in terms of weapons she has only a knife blade she scavenged from the wreckage of the Careers’ supply cache. I can’t see her attacking them, only gaining intel.

When the would-be hunters stop for a break, Peeta suggests they split up so Katniss can track down some game without his interference. “Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.”

“Not if Cato comes and kills you.”

Peeta laughs this off, as though this did not almost happen once before. “Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn’t I?”

Katniss neglects to mention how well that went last time, instead trying to spare his ego by suggesting, “What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?”

“What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he retorts, mimicking her tone. “Just don’t go far, in case you need help.”

Like his mocking of her lying skills before the feast, this irks me. Again, it’s something I might do to get under her skin, but nobody picks on my girlfriend but me. Plus, the assertion that she’s the one who might need help is laughable. Boys are annoying. If Katniss were working with a girl, you can bet she wouldn’t have to worry about stroking her partner’s ego.

After agreeing on a birdcall signal, the two split up, which is fine by me. Peeta gathers some roots close to where they left the pack for a while, obediently diligent about whistling. Eventually he ventures a bit farther and finds a patch of berries by the stream. As he fills his palms with them, an electronic profile of the plant pops up on the screen. “Those are nightlock berries,” Caesar informs the viewers. “Very poisonous, kill within moments.” Well, I sure hope Peeta eats them. Before Katniss gets the chance to, I mean.

Once Peeta has deposited the berries by the pack and gone back for more, Finch decides to make her move. Running to the food stash, she skims some of the roots and berries from the ground and picks a bit off of the lump of cheese remaining from their basket. There are apples and rolls in the bag along with the cheese, but those aren’t easily tampered with if one wants to stay discreet. It’s the same strategy she used down at the Career’s supply pyramid, taking just a bit of food, not enough to not be noticed. Her own stores that she received in the feast are long gone already, and still she’s skin and bones.

Katniss appears to panic on her way back to the pack, breaking into a run. When she makes it there and finds no one, she starts frantically calling for Peeta. He emerges from the foliage and she nearly shoots him by accident, then starts yelling at him for neglecting to return her signal. Needless to say, it gives me great satisfaction.

Pushing away from his attempted hug, she spouts, “If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn’t answer, they’re in trouble, all right?”

“All right!”

“All right. Because that’s what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!” Storming over to the pack, she grabs a new water bottle. Noticing the missing bit of cheese, she yells, “And you ate without me!” 

“What? No, I didn’t,” Peeta protests.

“Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese,” snarks Katniss.

“I don’t know what ate the cheese,” Peeta says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, “but it wasn’t me. I’ve been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?”

It’s rather ominous watching Katniss bend down to scoop up some berries while Finch collapses not far away. Hoping her cannon sounds in time to warn the others, I sigh in relief when it goes off while Katniss is examining the berries. She must recognize them as poisonous anyway, because she immediately turns to check on Peeta.

When the hovercraft appears and reels the body up into the sky, Peeta grabs Katniss and pushes her toward a tree. “Climb. He’ll be here in a second. We’ll stand a better chance fighting him from above.”

Katniss resists him, all traces of her anger gone. “No, Peeta, she’s your kill, not Cato’s.”

“What? I haven’t even seen her since the first day,” he says. “How could I have killed her?”

Katniss explains how she saw Finch - or Foxface, as she calls her - skimming from the Careers’ supply stock and that she must have been using the same strategy, assuming the food was safe to eat. When Peeta says he’ll throw away the rest of the berries that he now knows are poisonous, Katniss has a better idea. Pouring them into a pouch she got from Marvel’s pack, she explains, “If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he’s chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them-”

“Then hello District Twelve,” Peeta chimes in.

“That’s it,” she agrees, securing the pouch to her belt.

Peeta suggests they clear out now that the hovercraft has tipped Cato off about their whereabouts, but Katniss takes the ballsy approach and decides to cook their food now rather than give him another clue later. “If he knows we’re here, he knows,” she reasons. “But he also knows there’s two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you’re recovered. And the fire means we’re not hiding, we’re inviting him here. Would you show up?”

“Maybe not,” admits Peeta. And as predicted, Cato does not show up. He was napping in the Cornucopia when the cannon went off, and got up long enough to see where the hovercraft went before lying back down. Apparently he has no intentions of hunting them during the day, when both are awake and alert.

Once the food is cooked, Katniss suggests they move higher into the forest and find a tree for the night. Peeta objects. “I can’t climb like you, Katniss, especially with my leg, and I don’t think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground.”

She shakes her head dismissively. “It’s not safe to stay in the open, Peeta.”

“Can’t we go back to the cave?” he asks. “It’s near water and easy to defend.”

“You really think you can make it back on that leg? My butt is killing me. If I go back, I’ll be in no shape to walk tomorrow, much less fight,” argues Katniss. “And you can bet they won’t give us another day of rest before forcing us together.”

Peeta sighs. “Okay, well you know the forest better than I do. Are there any sheltered areas on the ground around here?”

“We have to get up high,” insists Katniss. “Cato doesn’t know I have the night-vision goggles, so he’ll probably be out hunting us as we sleep.”

“So like in the cave, one of us stays up.”

“We’re out in the open now. I really don’t feel comfortable down here, Peeta. You said it, we’ll stand a better chance fighting him from above.”

“Well there’s no way I can fall asleep in a tree,” he retorts. “I might as well be on guard all night.”

“Fine, stay on the ground,” she snaps. “Play bait for Cato, see if I care.” Pushing past him, she stamps over to the tree her arrow is lodged in and wiggles it free. By the time she turns back to Peeta, sheepish guilt dominates her expression. “I’m sorry. I do care,” she says, slipping the arrow in her quiver as she approaches. Gripping his jacket sleeves, she makes earnest eye contact. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Pressing a kiss between her eyes, Peeta assures her, “I promise, I won’t get hurt.”

“You can’t promise that.” The concern on Katniss’s face slowly gives way to resolve. “The pit I passed out in after the tracker jackers. That’s a shorter walk and somewhat hidden. We can sleep there.”

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “‘We’?”

“I’m not leaving you on the ground alone, Peeta.” Cupping his cheek, she plants a determined kiss on his lips. “You’re not dying on me now.” After throwing a bunch more wood on the fire as a decoy, they each grab a rabbit leg to munch on and Katniss starts down the gentle slope. 

“Sure it’s a good idea to camp near the Cornucopia?” Peeta asks as he hesitantly follows his partner.

“Not ideal, but at least he won’t expect it,” reasons Katniss. “The Careers didn’t think to check in the bushes by the plain after I blew up their supplies.” That’s a good point.

The pit in question sits at the lower edge of a small clearing, not two miles from the plain. The bushes surrounding it provide decent enough cover, especially considering its depth. Peeta, clearly not used to the long walks Katniss is, starts to nod off soon after they finish dinner. Katniss on the other hand is wide awake, and she stays up on watch all night, letting Peeta sleep. I’m over an hour into my shift the next morning before she seems to consider waking him, eyeing his sleeping form after removing her goggles in response to the gray dawn just breaking in the arena. I wish she would, because Cato is circling back to the Cornucopia after spending the night hunting, and he’s not far off. On the bright side, he’s mostly looking up, checking in the trees.

Katniss is still staring vacantly at Peeta when a twig snaps under Cato’s foot, drawing her attention into the woods. Crawling up the side of the pit, she peeks over the edge and squints into the dim morning light. Eventually she must catch a glimpse of Cato, because her eyebrows fly up and she sinks back down into the hole. After taking a moment to steady her breathing, she places a hand over Peeta’s mouth and gently shakes his shoulder. “Peeta,” she whispers. He stirs only a little, blinking groggily. Putting her mouth to his ear, she dares speak a little louder. “Peeta, it’s Cato.”

His eyes snap open. “Where?” he asks through her hand, and she pulls it away.

“In the trees. He hasn’t seen us.”

A conspiring smile crawls onto Peeta’s lips as he catches his breath. “So we surprise him?”

“That's the idea.”

“What's your plan?”

Katniss mulls this over for several moments, looking in the direction she saw Cato last. “Think you can lure him into the open with your noisy steps? Get me a clear shot?”

“Playing bait after all, huh?” As she opens her mouth to object, Peeta winks playfully. “I’m kidding.” Sitting up in the sleeping bag, he detaches the pouch on her belt and adds, “I’ll take the berries. Might get a chance to drop them.”

Katniss nods her agreement. “Let me get in a tree first.” Holding Peeta’s gaze, she gives his hand a tight squeeze. “Be careful.” He barely has time to squeeze back in reassurance before she’s slipping from his grasp and out of the pit.

Having to move slowly to minimize noise, Katniss only gets about 30 feet up before Peeta rustles his way out of the hole, forcing her to freeze to avoid detection. His injured leg is very convenient, and he greatly exaggerates his limp to justify making the racket he is as he heads into the trees a bit above Cato. Cato is not halfway deaf like Katniss, so he easily hears and turns. His eyes narrow as he takes in Peeta and then the surrounding area. Apparently he doesn’t see Katniss, because he starts creeping through the trees toward Peeta.

Cato is within twenty yards before Peeta looks over his shoulder and startles dramatically, whipping the knife from his belt. Wielding his spear defensively, he sizes up Cato, who also has a spear. With a sword and several knives on his person as well, Cato is not only larger, but better armed. With this in mind, Peeta uses the one advantage he has. His wits. “Lovely morning, don’t you think?” he asks far too casually. Cato merely narrows his eyes. “Fancy seeing you out here.”

“Where is she, huh?” growls Cato, clearly in no mood for games. “You wouldn’t wander far from your little girlfriend.”

Gulping down his nerves, Peeta stands up tall. “Hear you wandered far from yours.” Cato is unprepared for that emotional blow, and it shows. As the hurt in his eyes turns to anger, Peeta shouts into the trees, “Katniss, run!” Then he takes off in the other direction, heading back to the clearing. With Cato close on his heels, he weaves through the trees to make himself harder to hit. This combined with his leg slows him down, and Cato is almost upon him by the time he reaches the treeline. Since he never lifted his spear or drew a knife, I assume Cato wants to beat the pulp out of him with his fists.

Just feet into the clearing, Cato lunges forward and tackles Peeta from behind. They scuffle on the ground for several moments while Katniss watches anxiously from the tree, straining her bowstring tight but unwilling to fire with the boys in such close quarters. Peeta must understand what she is waiting for, because he gets to his feet as soon as he gets the chance and promptly turns them around once Cato reinitiates contact. I don’t even have time to wish for Katniss to aim for Cato’s head before her arrow bounces off his back.

“Shit,” she hisses under her breath as Cato’s head jerks up in response. Now aware of the trap he ran into, he grabs a knife and slashes at Peeta a few times, trying to circle back around to the other side of him. Peeta won’t allow it.

Roaring in frustration, Cato attacks Peeta with two knives and a new fury. Peeta’s inexperience shows, and Cato gets him off balance and drives a knife into his abdomen within seconds. Ripping it out, he gets his victim in a headlock as Peeta drops his spear and reflexively curls in around the wound above his left hip. Knocking Peeta’s remaining weapon from his grasp, Cato pulls the boy up against him, blocking his face with Peeta so Katniss can’t hit him. “Want to watch your partner bleed out in front of you, Katniss?” he shouts into the trees. “Like I did?” Katniss’s face wavers, but she says nothing. “Huh?” Looking around, Cato finally spots her and looks her in the eye. “You’re a killer. So how ‘bout you kill him, then kill me?”

Blinking away any sign of emotion, Katniss retorts, “Like you’re not a killer, Cato. I saw what you did to that boy from Three.”

Cato edges closer, readying a throwing knife. Peeta’s lips are turning blue, and he won’t be useful as a human shield much longer. “He had it coming.”

“So did Clove,” counters Katniss.

Cato’s eyes narrow at the sound of her name as he continues to restrain the struggling Peeta. Writhing in desperation, the captive boy ends up swiping his hand through the blood streaming out his side. I don’t realize it was more than a random flail until he brings his bloody fingers up and draws an X on the back of Cato’s hand. Cato realizes what it means a second too late, an instant before the arrow pierces his hand. He cries out and reflexively releases Peeta who slams back against him and then jumps forward, creating a couple feet of separation.

It’s all Katniss needs. She looses her next arrow in a heartbeat, skewering Cato through the eye like so many kills before him. As he collapses on the ground, she is already clambering down the tree. “Peeta!” The cannon sounds as her feet hit the forest floor, and she sprints to her partner, who has fallen to his knees clutching his stomach. Dropping beside him, she takes a quick look at the wound then turns her face skyward. “Hey, what’s taking so long? We need some help down here!”

“The body,” Peeta manages. “Maybe we need to move away from the body.” No, they don’t. Last year, they announced the winner as soon as Scar dropped the final body beside her. Something’s wrong. But they don’t seem to know the rules, and Katniss half helps, half drags Peeta a little ways away. “I can’t go any further,” he gasps, collapsing again.

“Peeta, get up. Please.” Katniss is trying to get him back to his feet when the hovercraft appears in the sky, its claw dropping to scoop up Cato. She sighs in relief, now pressing her hands against Peeta’s wound to save as much blood as possible.

The craft disappears, but still no trumpets sound to announce their victory. Peeta is looking woozier by the minute. “What are they waiting for?”

“I don’t know.” Katniss is returning her attention to his wound when Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms into the arena.

“Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed,” announces Claudius. “Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The tributes stare at each other in disbelief in the silence that follows. “If you think about it, it’s not that surprising,” murmurs Peeta. He nods at the bow slung over her shoulder. “Go ahead.”

Katniss shakes her head, decisively placing it on the ground. “No.”

“Do it,” insists Peeta, handing the weapon back to her. When she refuses to take it, Peeta glances at his stomach and shrugs, tossing it aside. “Fine, I’ll go first anyway.”

Katniss grabs his hand and squeezes it so hard her knuckles go white. “Peeta, please don’t give up. Don’t leave me here alone.”

“Listen,” he says. “We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me.” He rambles on about how much he loves her and how his life would be meaningless without her, but Katniss is having none of it. Neither am I.

“Oh my god, just shoot him,” I groan. “Shut him up already.” Peeta’s still talking, as usual, when Katniss’s hand snaps out to his right hip. It takes him - and me - a bewildered moment to realize she is detaching the pouch of berries from his belt. Suddenly light-headed, I grasp the windowsill behind me, a bunch of thoughts running through my brain. She can’t be serious. She’s really going to die for this boy she barely knows? She’d rather die in his place than come home to me? All that escapes my lips is a plaintive, “Katniss.”

Peeta nabs Katniss’s wrist as she pulls the pouch away. “No, I won’t let you.”

“Trust me,” she whispers. “Trust me.” He holds her gaze for a long moment, then lets go. She loosens the top of the pouch and pours a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Oh, so she just doesn’t want to shoot him herself. I’m breathing a sigh of relief when she dumps the rest into her own hand, kicking the air right back out of my lungs.

“Together?” asks Peeta.

“Together.”

He leans in for a parting kiss, a gentle one that Katniss returns easily. Then he starts the countdown. “One.”

Katniss’s eyes float up to the trees, taking them in one last time. “Two.”

Peeta would rather spend his final seconds looking at her. His empty hand trails along the end of her braid, calling her attention back. “Three.”

Eyes locked on each other, both tributes are lifting the berries to their mouths when the trumpets sound. “Stop!” Claudius shouts over the music. “Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”

The Square erupts with cheers, but I am silent, staring in wonderment as the tributes fling the berries away and wrap each other up in a tight hug. She did it. She actually fucking did it. I allow a moment to bask in pride again, for her but also for me. Looks like I won a Games after all, in one way or another. Once the hovercraft appears to take them from the arena, a huge grin cracks my lips and I join in the celebration. I am far from the only Peacekeeper whooping it up, but even if I wasn’t, I couldn’t care less about decorum. Let them suspend me. I don’t care.

Katniss is coming home.

***

After spending over two weeks assigned to the Square, being posted in the middle of nowhere is a treat. I used to find the deep Seam boring, but now I can appreciate the peace and quiet. It’s been five days since the Games ended, but I’m still decompressing. The continued star-crossed lovers act I’ve had to endure watching is certainly no help in alleviating my stress. If anything, Katniss and Peeta have been acting even more in love than before, making out for minutes on end when reunited on stage and sitting all snuggled up any time they are on camera. I can’t help but wonder what’s happening off camera.

Purnia told me she thinks they are intensifying the act to make sure the trick with the berries is interpreted as a move of lovesickness rather than rebellion. That would explain why it has carried on beyond the arena. I guess I have no way of knowing until Katniss returns to the district and I can get her alone and ask her. The victors are arriving this afternoon, but with all the camera crews that are sure to be buzzing around, I anticipate the getting alone part might have to wait.

As I’m tossing my empty lunch can in someone’s trash bin, a bright voice interrupts my swirling thoughts. “Hanna!”

Prim. My head jerks toward her voice, and I see her jogging down the road toward me. “What are you doing here?” I ask when she gets close.

“I asked one of your comrades where you were posted,” she answers matter-of-factly, as though that is not an incredibly abnormal thing to do. I’m about to specify that I mean why she isn’t in school when I remember that it’s cancelled for the day - there will even be a brief work stoppage in the mines to allow more people to attend the homecoming. Instead I casually wander a little farther from my post so Sam can’t eavesdrop on us. Once we have a decent amount of separation, she inquires, “Are you coming to the train station?”

Sighing audibly, I second-guess my decision for at least the tenth time this morning. The train is scheduled to arrive shortly after two, and I could probably make it in time if I tried, seeing as the barracks is not far off. But as much as I can’t wait to glimpse Katniss in the flesh, there’s a pit of anxious dread in my stomach at the thought. Plus, I don’t think I can stand to watch the lovebirds act in person. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Hanna,” Prim chides me, cocking her head. “You know she didn’t mean those things.”

“I know,” I lie. Sort of. Thankfully, I have other reasons to stay home. “But I don’t want to make the act any harder, for either of us. It’s a bad idea.”

“She’ll think you’re mad at her,” appeals Prim.

Walking back to the hummer, I shrug half-heartedly. “So tell her I’m not.”

The Commune is all but deserted for the homecoming, sparing me having to do anything but scowl as I watch it on TV. The area outside the platform is flooded with people, including many of my shiftmates who have opted to go observe the proceedings. Gale is there too, somewhat surprising, but maybe he’s a better person than me after all. Of course, it would look fishy if Katniss’s “cousin” was not there to welcome her home. Prim sits atop his shoulders for a better view, blowing kisses at the victors and generally being adorable as usual. She gets quite a bit of camera time, apparently somewhat of a Capitol darling herself.

Once the initial waving and cheering is done, the tributes are joined onstage by their families and field a variety of questions from reporters. Despite how the entire event makes me want to barf and scream, possibly both at once, I do get a chuckle when Katniss’s mother remarks that Peeta is a fine young man but Katniss is too young for any boyfriend at all. Thanks, Mama Everdeen. It prompts the lovebirds to cease contact for all of two minutes, but the brief reprieve is nice. Thankfully it is not long before I watch the victors get into the car that will take them to their new homes, hear it drive by just down the road.

That’s the last I see of Katniss for three days. I know where to find her, of course, but my presence in the Village could cause a stir. Besides, I want her to come to me. And hopefully grovel a little bit.

My wish is granted on Friday night, when I hear the timid knock on my window. Jumping to my feet, I force myself to show some restraint and walk there slowly, wear a neutral expression as I push the pane outward with a feigned reluctance. Katniss’s expression on the other hand is nervous but wanting, and despite my plans to make her earn some affection, I can’t help but falter immediately. Grabbing her by the back of the neck, I poke my head through the frame to kiss her out the window.

The way Katniss freezes up illustrates her shock, but within seconds she returns the kiss, cupping my jaw and nipping at my lip to demand entrance. I do manage to withhold that much, drawing back instead. Still, a relieved smile crosses her face and her posture relaxes. “Thank god. I thought you were mad at me.”

I don’t deny the allegation, just extend my hand out the window to help her inside. “I didn’t come by because I didn’t trust myself around you,” I tell her once her feet are on the floor. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the act.”

Her face falls. “Please don’t hate me.”

Ugh, the way she can turn me to irresolute mush with just a pitiful look and plea is absolutely pathetic. Rubbing my forehead, I sigh in resignation. “I could never hate you.”

“You probably thought that about Clove, too,” she parries weakly, averting her eyes. “And this is a bigger betrayal.”

“It’s not a betrayal.” She regains eye contact and I maintain it firmly. “I knew what you’d have to do as soon as Peeta told the whole country he loves you. It’s not like you had a choice.”

“You’re right,” she mumbles. “I didn’t.” Glancing down at her hand that has yet to release mine, she asks, “So are we okay?”

I take a moment to reply, wanting to be sure of my answer. “We will be.” Feeling my face beginning to waver with emotion, I break down and admit, “I just wanna hold you.”

“Please.” Unabashed longing fills her eyes, and I lift a hand to brush an errant wisp of hair from her face. That’s when I notice the lack of a certain familiar mark above her eyebrow.

Taken aback, I drop my hand. “Your scar is gone.”

“They’re all gone. They gave me a ‘full body polish’ before the reunion. Peeta said he had one too.” Katniss squints. “Is that not normal for a victor?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I don’t think Scar had one, but I never thought to ask.” I barely have time to regret mentioning her before Katniss snorts.

“Well, her name is Scar, after all. You’d think they’d let her keep at least one.”

It’s mostly surprise that makes my mouth turn up. “At least you’ve retained your sense of humor.”

“You need one, after all that.” Swallowing hard, she lets vulnerability show on her face once again. “What was that about holding me?”

I need no further prompting. Leading her to the bed, I lie on my back and guide her down on top of me. As she settles on her side, I take her hand and she buries her face in my chest. We say nothing for a while, though within minutes I feel silent tears dampening my shirt. Partly to distract her from whatever is causing them but mostly for my own selfish purposes, I decide to break the silence. I have so many things I want to ask her so I can better understand the past month. Despite the fact that Katniss has already said her name, I don’t dare touch the subject of Clove. Turning instead to my most pressing concern, I ask, “Why are you still all over Peeta? Is it because you’re in trouble?”

Wide gray eyes flick up to meet mine, and she wipes them with a sniffle. “How did you know?”

“That was Purnia’s theory. She knows more about Capitol politics and the kinds of convenient accidents that befall those considered to be dangerous.”

“I wasn't trying to cause trouble,” Katniss protests weakly. “I just didn't want him to die.”

“It’s not just the berries, Katniss.” My exasperation evident, she stares in confusion, and I briefly debate whether or not to explain. I’m not supposed to tell her about this, but it's probably better that she be informed. Besides, I want to give her a piece of my mind. “There was a riot in District 11 after your little funeral for the pipsqueak.”

Eyes flashing, Katniss abruptly pushes off of my chest. Propping herself up on her forearm to loom over me, she growls, “Don’t call her that.”

“It was an awful lot of trouble for someone you were only allied with for two days,” I say, ignoring her. “And for no good reason to begin with.”

That only intensifies her glare. “Rue was smart. And she saved me by pointing out the tracker jacker nest. She had intel about the Careers. She was a terrific ally.”

“And she was terrific for your messiah complex.”

“Shut up, Hanna!” barks Katniss. Dragging a hand through her hair, she scoffs inwardly. “God, I really didn’t expect this to be what you'd give me shit for.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be, if your flowers stunt hadn’t caused such a ruckus. I thought they’d kill you in the arena just for that. It was fucking foolish, and a lot of people died because of it.”

Her eyes snap wide open as the anger falls off her face. “Wait, who died?”

“Seventeen civilians in the riot, plus four more executed after the fact for being instigators. And six Peacekeepers, including one from here.” Waving away her sudden look of contrition, I tell her, “He was an asshole anyway. But Darius’s brother was injured, and Athena almost died.” I gesture at the building as a whole. “You won’t be popular around here.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, the gravel in her voice proving her sincerity. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to hold the Capitol accountable for killing that little girl.”

“Yeah, and it was fucking suicidal. You’re lucky they let you walk.”

She sighs wearily, eyes on the blankets. “I had no idea this was happening.”

My soft spot for Katniss rears its head again, sapping the aggression from my body. “Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” I backpedal. “I was really worried about you.”

A hint of a smirk lifts one corner of her mouth. “So you’re bawling me out like my mother would after catching me doing something dangerous?”

I can't help chuckling. “I guess so, yeah.” Pulling her back down, I circle my arms around her as she nuzzles into my chest once more. “I’m just glad you’re here, and you’re safe.”

“I don't feel safe,” she mumbles. “I won’t until the cameras leave and I know I convinced the Capitol the whole thing with Peeta was real.”

My jaw tightens. “Was any of it real?”

“No,” is her immediate answer. But then her brow furrows against my chest, undermining that certainty.

My face and voice go hard. “Katniss.”

Katniss lifts her head with a sigh. “It was nice in some ways, having someone there,” she admits. “It was comfortable. But it wasn’t you. The whole time, I wanted it to be you in there with me, and not just because you’re a way better fighter.” That makes me smile despite myself. Maybe I was wrong about Katniss not needing to stroke a female partner’s ego. “Anything I felt for him, it’s nothing in comparison. Okay?”

“Okay,” I concede with a reluctant nod.

Tracing her fingers down my jaw, she continues, “It felt wrong, doing all that when I had you back home. Especially knowing you were watching. But I did what I had to to get home to you. You know?”

“Yeah. I do know.” Smiling again, I pull her in for a kiss. This time, I let her tongue in when she tries. She keeps the pace slow, though, which I don’t usually mind but is not ideal after a month of celibacy. Not wanting to lose control and push her too soon if she’s traumatized or whatever, I gently detach and pull back while I still can. She follows my lips to give them one final, sweet peck, pulling a huge smile onto my face. Brushing her hair from her eyes again, I inquire, “What are you going to tell Peeta?”

Katniss shrugs, glancing away. “He already knows.”

My eyebrows arch. “About us?”

“That it was fake.”

Nodding to myself, I mull this over. “Was it just the romance that was fake?” I eventually ask. Katniss blinks in confusion and I have to specify, “Would you really have killed yourself if they hadn’t changed their minds?”

“No. I was bluffing.” My doubtful squint doesn’t seem to shake her resolve, but she does admit, “Maybe if it weren’t for you, I would have. I was so angry at the Gamemakers and I wanted to make a point. But I promised you and I promised Prim I’d do my best to make it back. And I promised Rue I’d win, too. I couldn’t go back on all that.”

“If only Peeta had swallowed the berries, you would’ve looked like a total dick.”

“Well, I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”

“Glad that gamble paid off.” Nodding in approval, I remark, “It was ballsy.”

Katniss snorts. “Good thing you like balls.”

“Balls are gross. Dicks, not so much.” The intended shock value lands perfectly, giving me a laugh as her face puckers. “They seem grosser than they are. If you tried it, you might like it.” Stopping myself there, I backpedal, “Not that I’m suggesting you should.” I plant a hard kiss on her forehead. “Mine.”

Eyes twinkling, Katniss gives me an impish smirk. “Lower, Hanna.”

I can’t stop the grin barging its way onto my face. “How much lower?” Rolling on top of her, I hover my lips above hers for a moment before winking and descending farther. Katniss’s throaty chuckle turns to hums of approval as I peel back her shirt and scatter kisses across her belly. As my teeth sink into her flesh, a soft moan fills the air and her fingers weave into my hair. “Mine,” I repeat.

I only leave a couple hickeys on her stomach before pulling down on her belt loops and placing more at the tops of her hipbones while they automatically arch into me. Either I’m feeling vengeful or I just have more territory to mark, because I detour northward after that, kissing my way up her breastbone. After making quick work of her bra, I proceed to litter her breasts and collarbones with marks. Mine, mine, mine. It’s not until my lips trail over her neck that she braces a palm against my chest to stop my ascent. “Johanna.”

“What?” I protest. “They’ll think Peeta gave it to you.”

“After my mom said I’m too young for a boyfriend.”

Winking slyly, I point out, “Won’t that only help your love story?” A devilish grin breaks onto her face and she relaxes back against the mattress, nodding her assent. I don’t need to be told twice. By the time I’ve left two more marks on that highly visible canvas, I can’t take it anymore and begin dragging my hand down her body as I work on number three. She tugs me up for a kiss just as my fingers reach her belt, a hard and passionate kiss that steals my breath while I fumble with the buckle.

Sliding my hand lower, I sigh into the kiss then pull back to watch her face for a reaction. There isn’t much of one other than her spreading her legs wider with a quiet hum. This is odd, to say the least. I figured she’d be writhing and sopping wet by now - god knows I am - but Katniss seems to be having a hard time. Well, difficult. Hard is not the word for it. Hoping it’s not my fault, I tease her, “Jeez, you jerk off a bunch in the Capitol?”

“Not since the Games started,” she answers blankly. This feels wrong. When I start to withdraw my hand, she sits up, forcing me up with her. “Sorry, I’m just… my head’s not really in this.”

“Oh, sorry,” I mumble, face flushing in some combination of shame and embarrassment. “I didn’t mean… I thought you wanted-” My voice catches and I swallow hard. “We can stop.” Every cell in my body is screaming at me for saying that, which only makes me feel worse.

“No, it’s not that I want to stop,” she clarifies. Thank god. “I’m having a hard time focusing.” Her eyes roll at my furrowing brow. “So give me something to focus on.” Ohhh. That I can do. Giving her the eyes, I peel off my shirt and bra and then wiggle closer to sit in her lap, straddling her waist. The lust beginning to smolder in her eyes tells me I’m on the right track, so I take her hand and ease it into my underwear. Her eyelids flutter shut with a small gasp, echoing my much louder one. “Yes. Better.”

It takes over twenty minutes of “focusing” before Katniss wiggles her pants down her hips with trembling hands. I’ve already come thrice by that time, not that I’m complaining. I’m insatiable after so long without her. It’s a good thing too, because making her come requires more effort and patience than usual. I’ve been down there for what feels like ages by the time I decide to redirect her focus again by putting a hand to work on my own body, moaning into her as I work out a bit more of my own lust. That seems to helps a lot, so I stick with it for as long as I can stand to draw it out. Hearing and feeling me come pushes her to the brink, and it only takes a bit more hard sucking after that to make her follow right behind.

As she recovers, Katniss slides her hands down from where she’d slapped them over her eyes when she crested over. A sheepish smile peeks out from behind her fingers. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I wink. “It was fun.” After taking the time to lick her clean and prolong her hard-earned pleasure, I crawl back up her body and flop onto her chest, snuggling in with a contented sigh. “Mm, I missed this.”

“And I missed you. So much.” Her fingers stroke my hair for several silent seconds. “Come stay with me.”

My head jerks upward and I squint into her eyes. “What?”

“When the cameras are gone,” she clarifies. “Come live with me in the Village.”

I shake my head. “I’m not allowed. I have to live in the barracks.”

“Technically, sure, but what’s anyone gonna do if you’re not here? Do they check on you?”

“No,” I admit.

“No,” she reiterates. “So what’s stopping you from staying somewhere else?”

“Your mother, probably,” I snort. “‘Too young for a boyfriend,’ remember?”

“She only said that to make things easier for me with Peeta. Besides, it’s not her house. If she doesn’t like it, she can stay in the Seam.” The confidence and attitude in that statement sparks my libido again, but Katniss is too busy squeezing my hand to notice. “Come on, please. I’m sick of sneaking around out here, risking getting shot just to spend time with you.” Holding my gaze earnestly, she declares, “I don’t want us to be visitors in each other’s homes anymore. I want to make a home together.”

Nearly moved to tears by that statement, how embarrassing, I force a large grin to obscure my deeper emotions. “Okay.” Leaning in, I plant a decisive kiss on her lips. “If nothing else, it’s a chance to stick it to Peeta.” Her smile fades, and mine quickly follows. “Katniss. You’re giving me whiplash here. Do you love him or not?”

“Not,” she insists. “But I don’t want to rub his face in anything.”

I snort. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Katniss rolls her eyes at that true assertion but otherwise ignores it. “What happened to Peeta wasn’t fair either.”

“He asked for it,” I point out. “He put you in an impossible position - it’s not like he can blame you for playing along.”

“Maybe not, but I still feel bad. He was so hurt when I told him.” Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Please, Hanna. Don’t be a jerk about this. You won.”

“After having to watch all that,” I mutter, and she hardens her gaze. “Fine,” I relent. “I’ll play nice.”

“No, you won’t.” I detect a hint of playfulness in her glare right before she teases me, “You don’t know how to play nice.”

“Damn straight,” I grin. “Need me to prove it?”

Caressing my cheek, she breathes a low chuckle. “Not at the moment. But if you move in, I’m sure you’ll have lots of chances.”

“All the more motivation.” Dropping my face to her neck, I give her a softer bite this time, one that still makes her groan. “Those cameras better leave soon.”

She sighs. “Tell me about it. Especially now that Peeta’s being so pissy. The act can’t end fast enough, honestly. I just want things to go back to normal.”

Barely suppressing a scoff at the notion, I press my lips together. A victor living with a Peacekeeper is about as far from normal as one can get. And Katniss’s newfound fame and fortune guarantee that she will never return to her former life. That life is over. But ignoring that reality won’t hurt her. For now.

“Yeah,” I murmur, reeling her into my chest. “Normal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great Easter long weekend, for those of you who get one (I don't). I am not sure which fic I will write a chapter for next, but I should be back on this story before too long.
> 
> Many thanks to D7P for the beta read and excellent edits.


	20. Different

Despite how enthusiastic Katniss was about the idea of me moving in with her, she’s also rather paranoid, and it’s several weeks before she decides the coast is clear. We’ve just celebrated my birthday days before when she tells me she thinks it’s finally safe. The cameras have been gone a good week and she’s barely heard a peep from the Capitol. I insist that I can just stay in the barracks if she’s worried, but she maintains that her sneaking into the barracks is probably more dangerous than me sleeping at her house. More illegal, certainly.

I’ve barely been living with Katniss a week when I come home on Friday afternoon to the sound of a heated argument. Entering through the back door in the kitchen, I catch strains of it coming from the living room. It’s Peeta and Katniss, that much I can tell immediately. They had a telephone interview with some Capitol newspaper today, but that was at one o’clock. Either it was delayed or they’ve been arguing awhile.

Peeta finally raises his voice enough for me to hear him clearly. “You know, Katniss, it’s fine if you don’t love me. But do you need to rub it in my face like this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Seriously?” Voice dripping with sarcasm, he suggests, “I dunno, you could try not showing up with hickies from your boyfriend-cousin person all the time, for instance.”

“It’s not like I schedule my hickies around our interviews,” Katniss snaps while I smirk to myself in the kitchen. She may not, but I do. Covertly. Two can play the possessive game. “And Gale’s not my boyfriend. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Okay, well then who is?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He’s got no right to be harassing her like this. That’s why I round the corner. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Peeta’s eyebrows jump sky high as I come into view. “Agent?” Katniss whips around just as he asks, “What are you doing here?”

Ignoring Katniss’s panicked death glare, I cross my arms and declare, “My girlfriend, hopefully. If that’s all right with you.”

Eyes squeezing shut, Katniss groans. “Johanna,” she growls through gritted teeth.

Peeta’s jaw is all but on the floor. “You?” Looking back and forth between us, he scoffs, “Well, that explains a hell of a lot.”

“Fuck off, Peeta,” spouts a frustrated Katniss.

In contrast, my gaze is cold as I look him over, thoroughly disappointed. “And to think you seemed so down with it when you thought I had a crush on my boss.”

Katniss redirects her scowl my way. “On Purnia? Really?”

“It was a joke.”

“Sure,” she snorts.

“To hear her tell it, the whole shift has a crush on her,” contributes Peeta.

“We all think she’s hot,” I clarify, rolling my eyes. “There’s a difference.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I don’t remember what I said, I just remember what I meant.”

Throwing a pointed look Katniss’s way, Peeta muses, “No one says what they really mean, do they?” After letting that sit there a moment, he stalks over to the door, barely stopping to jam his feet in his shoes on the way out.

Katniss finally gives voice to the simmering anger flushing her face. “Purnia? Seriously, Hanna?”

Once again I find myself rolling my eyes. “I’ve told you-”

“Yeah, you always tell me nothing’s happening there. Funny how it keeps coming up.”

“You know what? I’m being chill about you fawning all over Peeta, so maybe you could calm the fuck down. He was trying to make us fight. Are you going to let him tear us apart because he’s jealous?”

Still scowling, Katniss glumly crosses her arms. “No.”

“No. Good.”

“But I’m still mad at you,” she chirps. “What the hell was that? Telling Peeta wasn’t your decision to make.”

Giving my head a patronizing tilt, I sneer, “Aren’t you forgetting something, Katniss? That time at the Hob with Darius, maybe? At least I wasn’t getting all touchy-feely in front of the boy who likes you.”

“At least I didn’t call you my girlfriend,” she shoots back.

“I _wasn’t_ your girlfriend. But you pissed all over me anyway,” I remind her. “And can you really blame me, after having to watch all that star-crossed lovers bullshit for weeks?”

“No one was making you watch.”

“Please,” I scoff. “Like I was capable of dragging my eyes away.”

“Right.” Katniss draws the word out as she steps closer. “How could I forget you’re a bloodthirsty Career?”

My eyes narrow. “I meant because I care about you, numb nuts!” When she merely blinks, I throw my hands up. “Look, if you want to pick a fight, go find Haymitch. I’m sure he’d love a screaming match. I’m not in the mood.” Not waiting for a response, I stomp up to our room to take a shower.

When I come back downstairs, Katniss isn’t home. Figuring she must have taken my advice regarding Haymitch, I settle down on the couch with a novel. My theory is proven wrong when she comes home a few hours later wearing her hunting boots. The faint scent of pine filters into my nostrils as she throws herself across the couch, settling her head on my lap. Releasing my book with one hand, I twirl my fingers absentmindedly in her hair while I finish my chapter. She rubs her cheek on my thigh and relaxes under my touch, at least until I toss the paperback onto the coffee table and the soft thud makes her startle.

“Whoa, hey,” I say, looking down into her wide gray eyes. “Did you fall asleep?”

Shaking her head, Katniss lowers it to my lap again, turning onto her back. “Just surprised me.”

Now spotting a tiny leaf caught in her bangs, I pluck it out and hold it up for her to see. “What did you catch?”

“Nothing. I climbed a tree and got into a screaming match with the mockingjays.” Maybe it shouldn’t, but that visual makes me chuckle a bit. Thankfully, Katniss doesn’t seem to mind. “You were right,” she admits. “I just wanted to be mad at someone.”

My eyes flit away. “I shouldn’t have told Peeta.”

“You’re right,” she concurs. “I should have.” Her mouth twitches as I make eye contact again. “But I didn’t.”

“Like you said, it’s none of his business.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she shrugs. “But I feel better now. Not hiding things from him.”

Nibbling my cheek, I drum my fingers on her stomach. “He won’t… say anything, will he?”

“No,” she scoffs. “Not a chance.”

***

Living in the Victor’s Village, I have to get up extra early just to make the briefing. It’s worth it, though, being able to sleep with Katniss every night in a bed actually big enough for two people. The walk won’t be fun in the middle of winter, but for now it’s nice. The exercise and crisp morning air help me wake up, make it easier to be social first thing in the morning. I’ve been able to cut my coffee intake in half.

After punching my breakfast order into Martha, I pop into the Commune to brew said half cup. When I get back to the kitchen, I spot a familiar face in the group of those waiting for their food. “Oh my god, Thena!” I surprise myself by running over and wrapping my long lost neighbor up in a hug. “You’re okay?”

“Got a nice scar to show for it, but yeah, I’m good. Back to work as of today.” She squints as I pull away. “I got in on last night’s train. We had an impromptu party in the Commune. I knocked on your door to tell you, but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah,” I reply, “I was out. At the Hob.” Athena gives me a funny look, but is dragged away by Tory before she has the chance to pry further.

Unfortunately, it turns out she’s not the one I really have to worry about. After announcing our assignments, Purnia adds, “Mason, stay behind.” My three favorite words, coming from my CO. It always signals a particularly pleasant conversation is about to unfold. And after yesterday’s events, it feels especially ominous. I can’t imagine Peeta would do anything to hurt Katniss, but maybe he found a way to only hurt me.

Swallowing my nerves, I whip out a coy grin as my shiftmates exit the briefing room. “A private audience? To what do I owe this honor?”

Purnia never laughs at these jokes of mine, but sometimes I’ll get a little smirk out of her. Not today. There’s not even a flicker in her eye as she prowls closer and demands, “Where’ve you been?”

It takes all of my focus and willpower not to flinch in the face of those words and her piercing stare. “Nowhere, Captain.”

“Really?” She cocks her head. “I went by your room Wednesday evening and you weren’t there. And after your conspicuous absence last night, I tried again earlier this morning. Out of curiosity.”

I lift a lazy eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me, now?”

“Someone has to,” she snaps. “You are really fucking stupid, Mason. Do you want to get both of you killed?”

“Who cares?” I demand, leaning back in the chair with an exaggerated shrug. “As long as the star-crossed lovers look happy for the cameras, I doubt the government gives two shits what Katniss does. Or who.”

“I never took you for an optimist,” she retorts dryly.

Scowling up at her, I snark, “Can I go?”

“No.” Slapping her clipboard down on the table before me, she points at my name on a roster on the top page. Before I have a chance to read the heading, she’s telling me, “You’re up for the next IE run. We leave Wednesday afternoon, could be gone up to a week.”

That statement kicks half the air from my lungs, but I manage to cover it with a scoff. “You really want to keep me away from Katniss that badly?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Convenient.”

“We’re going to Two,” she informs me, her tone suddenly much less hostile. My head snaps up. “And if we make good time, we’ll have a couple free hours in town Saturday afternoon. I know you’re not from Glenwood, but at least it’s a taste of home.”

As I mull this over, my brain locks in on one word. “‘We’?” Purnia nods. “Good. At least this time we’ll have someone on board who will actually do something in the case of an attempted rape.”

“As I recall,” she smirks, “you had someone last time too.”

My brow creases. “You gave me hell for that.”

“Yes, I did,” admits Purnia. “But I also admired it a little.”

Nearly blushing, I brush the compliment off with a casual shrug. “Well, we ladies gotta have each other’s backs. No matter what district we’re from.”

She nods once more. “I agree.”

The news weighs on me all day, though I’m not sure how I feel about it. More than anything, I dread telling Katniss. While there’s a silver lining in it for me, there’s only a lonely bed in it for her. Once I’ve geared down at the barracks, I take the back route along the fence to the Village, like I always do.

The sound of running water greets me as I open the back door, and I quickly spot Katniss washing dishes at the sink. “Hey,” I grunt in greeting as I kick my shoes off. Sidling up behind her, I reach out to slide my hands around her waist. My fingertips don’t even have a chance to touch before she whips around. The wet knife at my throat is only half as scary as the wild, murderous look in her eyes.

The resulting jolt of terror makes me raise my hands defensively, and in an instant I’ve disarmed her. Trying to steady my breathing, I swallow my fear and arch my eyebrows. “Usually you’re happier to see me,” I deadpan, slapping the knife down on the counter.

Katniss shoves me away. “Why would you sneak up on me like that?” she demands. “What is wrong with you, Hanna? I could have killed you!”

“I wasn’t sneaking, I said hi,” I protest, thoroughly annoyed. “Jumpy, much?”

Her already flushed face reddens further as she clenches her jaw. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” she spits, absolutely fuming. But while anger dominates her expression, her eyes are still wild with fear. That sight steals my own anger, replacing it with concern. “Do you understand me?”

Holding up a calming hand, I start, “Katniss, I’m s-”

“Just leave me alone,” she snaps, barging past me to storm up the staircase. Our bedroom door slams, and moments later sobs begin echoing down into the kitchen. I wish I could go up there and comfort her, but she made it inescapably clear that I’m not wanted. So I hang around downstairs, trying to ignore the continued weeping that wrings my heart.

The crying stops after a while, and I decide to check on her. Knocking to avoid a repeat of the incident that led to this, I ease open our door and find Katniss passed out on the bed. I consider draping an extra blanket over her, but I don’t want to take any chances. Quietly gathering a change of clothes, I head into the attached bathroom to take a shower.

When I come out a short time later, running my fingers through tangled strands of hair, she’s sitting leaning back against the headboard. Relieved to see she looks much calmer now, I edge closer. Swallowing in response, she shuffles down so she’s lying on her back and pats the quilt in invitation. Easing myself down beside her, I sigh, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you earlier.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “And I know. I was already really on edge.” Pulling me closer, she wraps one arm around me and threads the fingers of her other hand in my wet hair. Scratching my scalp soothingly, she swallows hard and confesses, “Sometimes when I’m hunting, I get these flashbacks to shooting humans.”

Like the victor who freaked out on the mats. I understand better than I want to. Giving her side a comforting squeeze, I mutter, “Cato.”

“And Marvel,” she adds.

Lump growing in my throat, I force out, “And Clove.”

“I didn’t shoot Clove,” Katniss reminds me. As if I could have forgotten. “But yes,” she admits. “Other times.” She shrugs and shifts beneath me. “On the bright side, at least now I don’t have to hunt if it gets so bad that I can’t. And I never have to go down in the mines again.”

“Yeah,” I concur with another squeeze, “now you get to skip the annual field trip.”

“I meant…” Trailing off, she bites her lip in thought. “Part of why it scared me was because I knew I’d probably end up down there.” Catching my puzzled blink, she spells out, “It’s not like I’d have a husband to provide for me. Who was I gonna marry? Gale, maybe, if I forced it? I was never really interested in anyone before you. And making a living just off hunting is tough, and risky.”

“And if we ever cracked down on hunting…”

“Exactly. Who knows what the next Head will be like? Chances were, I was gonna end up down there. It’s the most profitable legal job I could have landed. Even if I’m half Townie by blood, nobody likes me, none of them would hire me.” Katniss rolls her eyes. “But anyone can be a miner. You don’t have to smile or even be halfway pleasant.”

“Yeah, that sounds more suited to you,” I tease.

She shoots me a half-hearted glare. “Shut up.”

Dropping my voice an octave, I purr, “Make me.”

A smile creeping onto her face, Katniss lies there a second before pouncing. But I’m ready, and only willing to go down if it’s with a fight. We wrestle for several moments, grunting and giggling, before she pins me on my back with her hand over my mouth. Removing the hand now that I’ve been subdued, she remarks, “You let me win.” She sounds a little disappointed.

Throwing her a sly wink, I reveal, “Maybe I wanted you on top of me.”

Her grin returning right away, Katniss grasps my wrists and pins them above my head. “Is that so?” I’m opening my mouth to respond when she grinds her hips down into mine, making a wanting groan come out instead. Smile spreading to her eyes and mixing with lust, she only releases me so she can peel off her shirt.

Taking the opportunity while I have it, I throw my own shirt to the floor and then reach out to run my hands over her newly revealed skin. My palms glide from the small of her back around her flanks, letting my fingers trail down her belly. Before I can do any more, she snatches my hands again, pulling a pout onto my lips. It doesn’t last, though, because as soon as she forces me back down with her body, she’s wedging a thigh between my legs and grinding again. Wrapping a leg around her butt, I pull her down harder, echoing her heavy breathing tickling my ear.

Katniss swipes her tongue along my pulse point a couple times, then starts to kiss down my body. Ripping one hand from her grasp, I curl my fingers under her jaw, tipping her chin up. “I want you up here,” I tell her, sliding my hand around to pull her up by the back of the head. So she comes back, resuming her little thrusts that drive me insane.

Eventually her pace slows, and I flip us. I enjoy this role too, and if she’s lost the energy, I will happily take over. Her hands migrate to my hips, urging me on as I grind down into her. Looking down into her wide eyes, I find her pupils are blown. Taking this as my cue, I slide one hand down her stomach to unfasten her belt and pants. It takes a little work, with my other hand wound in her hair, but it feels all the more a triumph when I worm my hand inside her underwear. Until I find her completely dry.

My eyes narrow as I push my frustration to the surface, masking the insecurity lurking beneath. “Really, again?” Pushing myself up to sit on my knees, I snark, “What, you only get boners for Peeta, now?”

“Fuck you!” Snapping upright, Katniss shoves me onto my butt. Her dark glare cuts through me, but it’s the hurt in her expression that actually manages to make me feel bad. “So much for being chill.”

“Sorry, that was…” I trail off with a sigh. “I thought you were turned on. You looked like you were.”

“I am,” she states, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Or I feel like I am, anyway.” Catching my tiny eye roll, she clenches her jaw. “Trust me, this is more frustrating for me than it is for you.”

Rubbing my brow, I tell her, “Look, Katniss, if you’re not in the mood for this shit, you don’t have to do it. I don’t wanna pressure you.”

“It’s not that. And it’s not you.” My doubtful eyes drop, and she insists, “It’s not. It’s just… my head is so full of shit, I can’t function properly. In general, I mean. I don’t have as much energy, and I can’t feel things the way I used to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t really explain it. I just feel like some part of me died in that arena and now I can’t connect with the world like I used to.”

Taking this all in, I conclude, “So you have what your mom and I had.”

“I’m not sad,” she counters. “Not really, anyway. Things just feel… different.” Her mouth twitches glumly. “But I guess it’s me that’s different.” Eyes trailing down my torso, she murmurs, “It’s not like I don’t enjoy feeling close to you.” A moment later, she catches my eye earnestly. “Can we just… be naked?”

My lips turn up involuntarily, a soft chuckle pushing them apart. “Sure.”

Removing the rest of our clothes, we burrow under the covers. As I settle on my back, Katniss nestles her head under my chin, a hand loosely cupping my breast. Our bare legs tangle, and I lazily stroke my calf up and down hers, making her groan and nuzzle into my collarbone. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

That reminds me of my earlier conversation with Purnia, and I take her hand with a sigh, hoping to soften the blow. “I have to go on another IE run. On Wednesday.”

Her eyebrows twitch against my chest. “Haven’t been sucking up to Purnia enough, huh?”

“Well, to be fair, we’re going to Two. Those are really nice runs to get picked for.”

Suddenly alert, Katniss pushes up on her elbow to make eye contact. “Are you going to Meredith?”

“No, there’s no trains up there. I think we’re just going as far as the main town.”

“Too bad,” she mumbles sympathetically.

Shrugging this off, I tell her, “I’m gonna call Josh. See if he can come down and hang out for a couple hours. There’s trucks running down to the valley all the time, trains from there into town.”

Katniss nods and returns to her spot on my chest. “I hope you get to see him.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

***

The phone call with my brother turns out completely different from what I planned, or expected. My suggestion that he feign sickness and then hitch a ride down to the valley in Jordan’s transport truck quickly gets shot down, as he doesn’t want to risk getting them both in trouble. “Besides,” he adds, “I can’t really afford to take time off with a baby on the way.” 

After literally dropping the phone in shock, I press him for details. They only recently found out for sure, but the doctor thinks Sabina’s about ten weeks along, making the baby due sometime late in March. Though I’m still a little bummed out, the news greatly tempers my disappointment about not getting to see him.

By the time our train pulls into Glenwood Station Saturday morning, I’ve got an alternative plan for what to do with my off hours. Two and a half of them, to be exact. Our afternoon and night guys take off as soon as the unloading and loading is done, while Purnia and I have to stick around to keep an eye on the miners and make sure none of them leave the vicinity. Too bad leaving the vicinity is all we want to do.

“I grew up here,” Purnia tells me as she looks out into the street with yearning eyes. “Still have family in town.”

She’s mentioned this is her hometown before, but I’m in a good mood and actually have the patience to engage in polite conversation for once. “Oh yeah? Whereabouts?”

“Down on 24th.”

“That’s quite a walk,” I remark, trying to sound interested.

“I’ve already reserved a cab,” she says, rocking on her heels. “So little time to waste.” The thing that does interest me is the fact that she is discussing her personal life with me, that and how she’s fidgeting like nobody’s business. Then again, I probably would be too if we were in Meredith. Maybe out of anxiety as much as excitement, but still.

As soon as our afternoon guys come to relieve us at two o’clock, we’re back in our rooms and stripping off our gear like we only have hours to live. Probably because it’s true, in a sense. Exiting the train just in time to spot Purnia hopping into a cab that then speeds away to the south, I turn to the nearby bridge and take off at a brisk pace. But unlike her, I don’t have far to go.

The Victor’s Village is located in a sparsely populated area north of the river, nestled at the foot of a mountain. It’s peaceful out here, and I bask in the quiet and sunshine as I leave the ruckus of the town behind. As I stroll through the Village and the last house on the left comes into view, my brow furrows at the wooden ramp that has been constructed off the side of the front stoop. Peering at it curiously as I climb the steps, I turn to the door and knock. Within seconds I hear footsteps, and then the door swings open and a startled Scarlett Caskey is staring down at me. “Miss me?” I quip.

“Jo!” Throwing her arms around me, she squeezes me in a tight hug. Good enough answer.

“I was hoping you’d be home,” I say into her chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“Import/export run.” As she releases me, I nod at the wooden contraption to my left. “What’s with the ramp?”

“It’s for my mom. She’s a roller.”

That makes me blink. Come to think of it, I don’t recall ever seeing Mrs. Caskey standing on TV, but she was always sitting on a couch or a chair. A regular one, I mean. “I had no idea.”

Scar shrugs. “You wouldn’t. The camera crews went to lengths to hide it. And they’ve tried to keep her out of the public eye.”

“Why?”

“She was injured in a mine collapse. I’m guessing the government doesn’t like to advertise the working conditions in the districts.” Nodding invitingly into the house, Scar slips back inside. After kicking my shoes off to add to the pile by the door, I follow her into the kitchen, where I find her rooting around in the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

Barely looking back, she tosses me a dark brown glass bottle over her shoulder. Her aim is impeccable, and I barely have to make an effort to catch it. As I run my thumb over the graphics on the printed label reading Black Hawk Brewery, she straightens up with one in her own hand. “Capitol import.”

“You can just order them in any time you want?” I ask as she digs through a drawer.

“No, but if I’m ever in the Capitol on business, I can bring back whatever I like.” She turns wielding a bottle opener and an ironic smile. “Being a victor has its privileges.”

I’m about to ask her what kind of business they’d need her for when another female voice echoes in from the living room. “Scarlett? Who is that?” The rolling sound that follows makes clear the speaker’s identity.

When her mother turns the corner into the kitchen, Scar nods at me. “Mom, this is my friend Jo. From the program.”

The woman’s face lights up. “Oh, Jo! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Arching an eyebrow, I glance over at Scar. “Have you?” She elbows me in the ribs.

Wheeling closer, Mrs. Caskey gives me a friendly smile. “Would you kids like a sandwich?”

That sounds wonderful after days of canned rations, but her daughter waves away the offer before I can answer. “No, Mom, we’re just gonna head up to the roof. Thanks, though.”

As I follow Scarlett back to the front door to grab our shoes, I inquire, “The roof?”

“Just in case,” she whispers. “Never know who’s listening.” My face falls. I hadn’t even thought of the possibility that the victors’ houses are bugged. And I probably should have, before accepting Katniss’s offer. But oh well… if they know, they know. Can’t do anything about it now, other than hope my optimism was not clueless.

Scar leads me up the stairs and through the master suite, out onto a veranda facing the mountain rising up behind the house. “Hold my beer.” Bracing a foot on the railing, she boosts herself up onto the roof. Handing her both bottles, I follow suit, accepting her hand to help pull me up onto the shingles.

Once we’re settled on the peak of the roof and looking out over the Village, the river and the town beyond, she pops the cap off her beer and hands over the bottle opener. While I wrestle with my own bottle, she gives my foot a playful nudge with her toe. “So, you meet any hot Peacekeeper boys up in Twelve?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Peacekeeper girls?”

Smirking inwardly, I take a long chug to create a dramatic pause. “I’m dating Katniss Everdeen, actually.”

Scar chuckles in a way that makes it abundantly clear she thinks I’m full of shit. Until it registers how straight my face is, and her eyes go wide. “You’re not serious.”

“Completely. That lovestruck act didn’t fool you, did it?”

“It seemed a little off,” she admits. “And I did wonder how she knew you. And knew about Clove. Thought maybe you two were friends.” A grin creeps onto her lips. “I’m so jealous.”

My eyes narrow curiously. “You’re into girls?” I’ve never gotten that impression before.

“I mean, once in a while,” she shrugs, blushing only a little. “And besides, who doesn’t want the girl on fire?” Her eyes lose focus as she frowns. “She’s lucky she has that fake boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Cupping and shaking my knee, she urges me, “Tell me more. What’s her favorite food? Favorite color? Most overused phrase?” When I only stare, she explains, “I’m a huge fan of hers. Like if I’d had the balls to approach her at the Victory Banquet, I might’ve asked her to sign my ass.” I’ve never known Scar to be so crass, but I decide not to question it. It’s probably been weird getting used to celebrity life.

“Um, cheese buns and that lamb stew in the Capitol,” I finally reply. “Green. Probably ‘Fuck you, Mason.’ And it’s a good thing you didn’t, because she’s no fan of yours.” Scar’s brow furrows, and my shoulders sag as I deliver the news. “You killed one of her classmates.”

What’s left of her smile falls off her face. “Toley Crawford,” she utters solemnly.

“You remember?”

“Fifteen years old. Five-foot-five, ninety-seven pounds. Scored a four in training. Sixty to one odds. Third to die that year, lasting a measly fifty-two seconds.” Her jaw twitches. “My first.” Eyes dropping to the roof, she mumbles, “I remember all of them.”

“All the tributes? Or all your kills?”

“The kills, mostly,” admits Scarlett, dragging her nails through the moss sprouting from the shingles. “It stays with you.”

The chill in her voice makes me shift uncomfortably beside her. “They always said we’d get over it.”

“Maybe we do, eventually.” Finally looking up, she confesses, “But for now, they visit me when I sleep. I see their faces, feel their blood spraying my skin. Taste it in my mouth. I wake up screaming.” Her forlorn eyes settle on the horizon. “I think you were the lucky one, Jo.”

It would be tactless to say I agree with her. Not that tact has ever been my strong suit. Still, I let that assertion go unconfirmed. Wrapping my arms around my shins, I rest my chin on my knees and join her in staring off into the distance. Long moments later, I break the silence. “Katniss is having a really hard time.”

“I’d imagine so.”

The uncharacteristic bluntness in her tone causes me to look over, take in the hard lines of her face. “Is there anything I can do to help her?”

Scarlett releases a scoff that comes out more sounding more like a sigh. “You can’t make this go away, Jo.”

“I know. But if there’s anything I can do to make her feel alive, or even just like she’s not alone…”

Scar purses her lips. “If anyone knows what she’s going through, it’s Haymitch and Peeta.” Glancing up, she cracks, “He must be your favorite person ever.”

“And I’m his,” I deadpan in return.

Her eyes pop wide open. “Peeta knows?” When I nod, she scoffs again, this time with heart. “You’d better fucking hope he’s trustworthy.”

“He’s a good kid. Kind of an entitled little bitch, but he’s kind, and he cares about her. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

Scar doesn’t question this, just shakes her head at the absurdity of it all. “Look, the best advice I can give is to not treat her differently. If you tiptoe around her, it’s just going to make her feel more detached.”

Blinking hard, I counter, “I think I have to. I already made her flip her shit once by grabbing her from behind.”

“Well that was a very stupid thing to do to a victor,” she spits, a sudden spark in her otherwise dead eyes. As my jaw slackens at the uncharacteristic outburst, she softens her expression in apology. “Look, just don’t be hesitant with affection. Don’t ask her every thirty seconds if she’s okay. She’s not, and usually it’s easier to try not to think about it. It’s better to try to help her forget.”

I snort. “Could you ever forget?”

“I mean for the moment,” she clarifies. “Distract her, do fun things with her. Whatever you guys like to do.”

“We used to like shooting,” I muse, “but sometimes it gives her flashbacks now.” Shooting a bow, that is. Hm, maybe another round with a firearm would do her good. Following that train of thought further, I say aloud, “Could take her to the lake outside the fence. She’s a great swimmer, loves showing off.”

Scar’s lips tighten in a weak smile, eyes falling again. “She’s lucky she has you. Some of us are really isolated. Have to try to drink or fuck the pain away.” Picking at the label on her bottle, she admits, “It only kind of works.”

Nudging her side, I purr, “That’s not a bad idea, either.”

Snort muffled by her closed lips, Scar turns to me again with a more genuine smile. An affectionate one. “You haven’t changed, have you?”

“I have. Just not that part.” When I hold out my bottle, she chuckles and clinks it with hers. “Cheers.”

Shaking her head, she puts the beer to her lips. “Cheers.”

***

Two beers and two hours later, I’m back at the station, geared up, and ready to go. But Purnia is none of those things. When it’s 4:40 and there’s still no trace of her yet, I start to worry. I’m considering putting a call out among our comrades in town to look for her when I spot a cab pulling up to the station through two sets of windows. As Purnia jumps out and hustles toward the building, I shake my head in a mix of exasperation and relief. I’m waiting on the tracks as she pushes through the door onto the platform. “Where the hell have you been?” I bark, grabbing her sleeve as she tries to blow by me. “We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago.”

“Fucking cab was late,” she scowls, ripping her arm away. “Get off my back.”

My jaw drops for a second, but I snap it shut and follow her up the steps into the hallway containing our quarters. “Wow, what’s with the role reversal, Agent?”

“Shut up, Mason,” she shoots over her shoulder, a slight catch in her voice.

Curious, I grab her one more time, spinning her around as she reaches her door. Confirming the moisture in her eyes, I’m about to ask if she wants to talk about it when I notice more in her hair. Tears over leaving. Poorly-dried hair. The pieces come together.

“Did you get fucked?” I gasp. Purnia’s eyes bulge and she shushes me urgently, dragging me into her room. Once she’s slid the door shut, I tease her, “Visiting family, my ass.” I whistle. “You have a boy in every port, don’t you, Stark? What would Jason say?”

“Trust me,” huffs Purnia, “Jason doesn’t wanna know.”

My eyebrows arch. “Quite an arrangement you have there. I’ve underestimated you.”

She snorts, looking away. “Oh, you have no idea.”

My curiosity piqued once again, I squint at my CO. “What’s his name?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Why not?” I press. “I haven’t said a word about your other boyfriend.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about Jason either,” she snaps. “You only know because you’re nosy.”

“You’re the one who left the door open while you were having phone sex. Not really my fault.” 

“I was not having phone sex!” she protests. Her fists clench at her sides, a flush creeping up her neck. “God, Mason, I’m really sick of your shit. Get out of my room.”

“But-”

“Out!”

Purnia’s similarly cranky for the rest of the day. Over dinner I tell her to cheer up, maybe she’ll get a trip to Four soon enough. She just glares at me. That night, I think I might hear her crying. If she is, it’s very muffled, and I could just be imagining it. She seems back to normal in the morning, so I decide that must have been it. It’s better to think that, anyway. As much as I love getting under her skin, I wouldn’t know what to do with a truly distraught Purnia.

***

Mrs. Everdeen is sitting at the kitchen table when I get home early Tuesday afternoon. From the jars spread out on the table, I’m guessing it’s another inventory day. She’d better not be counting on Katniss making a herb run. I have other plans. When she looks up, I give a tentative wave. “Hi, Mrs. E.”

She responds with a nod and a warm smile. “Welcome home, Johanna. You have a good trip?”

“Yeah, it was all right,” I shrug, fiddling with the strap of my duffel bag. “We had a stopover in Two, so I got to visit an old friend.”

Watching me work my feet out of my shoes, she pries, “No family?”

“They’re in another village.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” Biting my lip, I stand there awkwardly. Normally I’m all for charming Mrs. Everdeen with my good manners, but after six days away I’m hoping she can forgive my impatience. “Katniss home?”

Smirking to herself, she nods at the ceiling. “Upstairs.”

“Thanks.” As I’m passing the table, I pause long enough to add, “It’s nice to see you.”

She shakes her head, seemingly amused. “I know you’re not here to see me. She’s been mopey all week. Please go cheer her up.”

Grinning, I raise my hand in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.” Making my way through the kitchen, I turn to the stairs and take them as quickly as I can, given the load I’m bearing.

I’m just reaching for our bedroom door when it flings inward and Katniss yanks me into her body. I stumble slightly, but she holds me upright with her strong arms. All but squeezing the life out of me, she puts her lips to my ear. “I missed you so much.”

When she finally releases me enough to let me breathe, I infer, “You heard me talking to your mom?”

Katniss shakes her head, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. “I recognized your footsteps.”

This makes my heart swell for some reason, and I push up on my toes to kiss her, dropping the bag on the floor. Fingers tracing her jaw, I hum into her mouth and give her lip a tiny nip. Her hands slip under my shirt to rest on my waist as she deepens the kiss, eyes going dark. Nails gently scraping my flesh, she pulls my hips forward to contact hers, rolling her own forward. Though the sudden pleasant hum of sensation between my legs is sapping my brain power, the gesture also reminds me of something. “Oh, hey,” I interject between kisses, “I got you something.”

“A present, huh?” Giving my ribs a little poke, she teases me, “You know, you don’t need to do that anymore. I’m richer than you now.”

“Much. But you don’t have the power to order things in from other districts. I do, but I was in Two anyway, so.” Squatting to dig in my bag, I fish out the package I bought in town before heading back to the station. “Though I hear you can bring stuff back from the Capitol - remember that for your Tour.” Eyeing me curiously as I stand, Katniss takes the nondescript brown cardboard box. While she picks at the tape holding it shut, I finally think to close the door. Just in time. “Sorry, the skin tone’s kind of off. Apparently only really pale or really dark people exist in the Capitol.”

“Skin tone?” Katniss’s face only grows more confused as she withdraws and peers at the plastic-wrapped dildo inside. After a couple seconds, she suddenly recoils and drops it back in the box. “Hanna, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“Is this a joke?” she demands. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’re supposed to wear it, brainless.”

Her brow crinkles. “Wear it?” Chuckling to myself, I pull the whole thing out of the box so she can see the attached harness. Then ripping the plastic off the dildo itself, I hold it to my pelvic bone and cock a suggestive eyebrow. Far from the reaction I’m hoping for, Katniss’s face falls. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy lately, but I’m trying. If I’m not enough for you-”

“Whoa, no,” I interject. “It’s not because I like boys. That has nothing to do with it.”

The hurt in her expression turns to incredulity and she nods at my waist. “It kind of looks like that has everything to do with it.”

“Really,” I assure her. “It’s fun, but I can do without. I got it because I thought you’d enjoy it, and maybe it would help with that problem you’ve been having.” Handing it back to her, I wink, “You do love… grinding against me.” Rolling my hips a little for effect, I grin and give her my best bedroom eyes. And then I watch as arousal slowly conquers hers. They migrate from my waist to the apparatus in her hand and then back to my body. By the time they catch mine again, they’re dark and wanting and her mouth has slipped open with unchecked desire. That hungry stare forces a swallow out of me.

“Take your pants off,” she commands me abruptly, her voice even deeper and rougher than usual, thick with lust. My eyes widen as I feel my entrance pulse, the desire burning there and the abundant wetness rushing out of me just from that one short sentence.

My hands fly to my belt and fumble with the buckle, suddenly trembling and inept. They encounter similar problems with the zipper pull, which seems to have shrunken into a miniscule and slippery tab. Finally free of any need for fine motor control, at least for now, I slide my thumbs down inside the waistbands of my underwear and pants and push them down in one fluid motion. Kicking them aside, I straighten back up to the view of Katniss’s greedy eyes drinking in the newly exposed flesh. She responds to my smug smirk by thrusting the strap-on into my arms.

“Hold this,” she orders me, her hands already unzipping her own pants with a steadiness that only makes mine even sweatier. Still, I need to fight this. I have too much pride to let her see just how in control she really is. It almost frightens me.

“With pleasure,” I quip, fingering the appendage lasciviously.

Katniss snorts but shows a hint of a smile as she steps out of her pants. “No doubt.”

Instead of returning it to her, I bend down again and hold the harness open, clarifying where she needs to step. She appears surprised by the gesture, but lays a hand on my shoulder for support as she threads her ankles through the mess of straps. Maneuvering them up over her knees and to her pelvis, I hold them there and gawk while she tightens them securely. Unable to help myself, I squeeze the shaft yearningly and let out an involuntary moan, already feeling the phantom sensation of it inside me.

“Lie down.” These husky words demand an obedience that I am more than willing to offer. I back up until I feel the mattress brush one of my calves, then feel for the bed behind me and recline back on my elbows. The visual of my girlfriend stalking toward me with an exposed boner makes my eyes want to roll back in my head, but I fight to keep them squarely on her. My mouth goes dry as she crosses her hands over her abdomen to grip her shirt, peel it off. She shakes her hair free and lets it fall to the floor.

As she kneels between my legs, I spread myself wide open for her in a silent but desperate invitation. A silent plea. Katniss licks her lips at the display but otherwise ignores it, crawling forward on her hands to loom over me. It is only now that she kisses me, dipping her head down to meet my craning one. Expertly she slides her left hand around my back and unhooks my bra through my shirt with ease. I’ve taught her well. I sit up and she follows suit, slipping her hands under my shirt to lift both garments over my head. Discarding them over the side of the bed, she forces me back down with her body, and suddenly I’m quivering with anticipation.

One of Katniss’s hands trails over my breast and down the plane of my stomach as we share a heated kiss. She dips her fingers into the wet mess between my thighs, and my hips buck involuntarily at the fleeting contact with my clit. But it’s the tantalizing circles she’s drawing around my entrance that are truly driving me mad.

“I don’t need a warm up,” I encourage her through a shaky breath.

“I noticed.” I might think she’d completely missed the point if it weren’t for the sadistic grin I can feel against my neck as she peppers it with kisses. Each touch drives me further from sanity, and I find myself digging my nails into the flesh of her back. She hisses sharply and begins slowly sweeping a path up over my clit and then back to my aching hole.

“Katniss,” I whisper, my voice quaking as badly as my legs. “Katniss, please.”

“Please what?” she demands in that deliciously low pitch, lifting her head to look into my desperate eyes. Hers are wide and black with lust, absolutely drunk on power.

I wrap my legs around her pelvis and jerk my hips up, gasping when I feel the tip of her cock glide against my slick runway. “Please,” I rasp. “Please fuck me.” She returns to lacing kisses under my jaw and I groan painfully. “I want you inside me,” I try again. She releases an aroused gasp into my ear, leaving hers right by my mouth. “I need it. I need you.”

That’s what finally pushes Katniss past her breaking point. Growling, she pulls back enough to see what she’s doing as she moves her hand to position her new appendage. She flicks her eyes up to make contact with mine just before she pushes it inside me. A cry of pleasure bursts from my lungs as she fills me in a completely new way. I’m not usually loud, but this is turning me on to an unbelievable extent, and I could already come at any moment. Dominant Katniss tends to have that effect on me, but she’s never owned me this way before. But I know firsthand the rush of power that a strap-on can give you, a tangible power you can almost taste. This shouldn’t be surprising.

She starts moving her hips and my head tips back into the pillow, following my eyes rolling back in their sockets. Both her hands find purchase on my torso, and before I know it they are holding me down firmly, rolling my nipples as she thrusts in and out of me with abandon. My legs wrap around her hips, assisting the movement. She’s deriving a lot of pleasure from this as well, I can tell from the set of her open jaw and the little whines mixed in with her forceful grunts of effort.

“Shit, Katniss,” I gasp, bucking my hips to meet hers. “Fuck, I-” That’s interrupted by a delicious moan as she changes the angle just a bit and hits my G-spot. Now I’m incapable of voicing anything other than unintelligible noises, but I don’t need to tell her how close I am anyway. She knows.

A string of squeals and whines leave my lips as Katniss continues to pound away at me mercilessly, driving ever deeper. A few larger moans break through, and it’s with one of these that I remember something and suddenly pale. “Shit,” I exhale, snapping my head up. She squints questioningly and I remind her, “Your mom’s downstairs.” Another hard thrust pushes a whimper out of me and I dig my teeth into her shoulder to muffle anything else. I feel fingers threading into my hair, then a wonderful shot of pain as she squeezes them into a fist. My head is suddenly wrenched back and I’m looking into her eyes again. They’re still narrow, but only with intensely focused desire. She speeds her hips up impossibly more, firmly holding my head in place.

“So what?” she scoffs breathlessly. Dipping her lips down to my ear, she growls, “This is my house.”

My eyes roll back again as a wave of blinding pleasure crashes into me, pulling me under, drowning me. I almost lose my sense of where or even who I am for a few blissful seconds, but I’m aware of myself screaming her name as though I am on death’s doorstep and she is the one person who can save me. Probably because that’s what it feels like. There’s a lot of curses and moans mixed in there too, and if I had some shred of hope that our activities had gone undetected before, it’s surely destroyed now. Not that I am capable of caring at the moment.

Katniss gradually slows her movements as my pulses die down and I return to some level of useful consciousness, kissing down my neck and over my collarbones. Her breath on my skin is a special kind of bliss in this heavenly moment, and I trace my fingers over her skin in return. She glances up and, seeing I’m somewhat recovered, starts to pull out. In a flash I cinch my legs around her, holding her fast. I tighten my muscles around her a few more times, continuing to ride it out, and she must feel it because her eyes flutter shut and she moans. A small tug on her upper arm convinces her to relax on top of me, and I wrap my limbs around the girl, entwined with her in every way possible.

I comb my fingers through the long bangs framing my girlfriend’s face while she lies quietly, listening to my heart and lungs recover. After a moment, I manage a raw chuckle. “Damn, Everdeen. What have I unleashed?” Her smirk into my chest is cut short by a twitch of her hips that pulls the smile right off her face. Chuckling again, I wind some strands of hair around my finger. “I guess I should take care of you, shouldn’t I?”

She looks up, once again displaying the desire burning in her eyes. “Yes,” she rasps.

Cupping her cheek, I pull her up for a kiss. It starts a little slow because I’ve just come down, but very quickly ramps up into another torrid embrace. I’m deliberating just how to return the favor when she spasms again, inadvertently moving the cock inside of me. Then I get an idea.

Pushing Katniss up into a sitting position, I start to ease myself backward. She gets the message and gently pulls her hips back, slipping it out of me. Groaning, I force myself to focus. Her brow furrows as she watches me slide off the bed and onto my knees, then arches when I grab her waist and pull her to the edge of the mattress. Far from unfamiliar with this position, she moves her hands to loosen the straps, but I intercept them. Puzzled charcoal eyes go huge as I take the dildo into my mouth, casting her a lewd gaze.

This isn’t just for her benefit, admittedly. I fucking love tasting myself on her. My eyes fall closed as I swirl my tongue around to clean it all up. Bobbing my head a little for effect, I rake my nails down her inner thighs. An involuntary moan escapes my mouth, though muffled by the obstruction, and it’s echoed right back at me. My eyes flick up in surprise and see hers have gone black as night and zeroed in on me with an intensity that immediately makes my pussy throb again. I moan again experimentally and watch as her features contort with pleasure while her hips buck and drive it deeper into my mouth. Well, well. The idea was to give Katniss a momentary hot visual before eating her out, but if she’s this turned on by it, why not draw it out? 

Grinning as best I can, I move one hand to her shaft and press the other against her pubic bone. I glide my thumb over to find her clit and my eyes bulge as I discover she’s absolutely oozing, soaking the bedspread and immediately coating the digit. I can’t wait to taste her, but for now, I settle for massaging the burning, pulsing little organ. Katniss cries out in what sounds like pleasure with an undertone of surprise, trembling at my touch. Looking up again, I discover her mouth has dropped open.

Stroking my hand up and down the extra length, I hold her scorching gaze and work up some saliva to exaggerate the wet sounds of suckling and licking, letting them mix with my visceral noises of arousal. I’m swirling my tongue around the head again when she palms the back of my skull, urging me to take her in deeper. Not about to argue, I swallow up as much of her as I can and suck harder, speeding up both my hands. Katniss has to plant one hand behind her to hold herself up as she starts gasping and whining, grabbing a handful of hair again and guiding my head as she wishes.

Katniss’s grip on my hair tightens tremendously as she aggressively aids my motion, getting progressively louder. “Hanna. Hanna, fuck. Oh my god. Ugh, Johanna!” My eyes are starting to sting from the pain when her hips stutter against my hand and she shouts an even longer string of obscenities. I don’t let up as she rides it out, convulsing and screaming, her hand quaking but still jerking me around. Finally it ebbs and she loses momentum, now moaning between sharp gasps for sweet oxygen. Her fingers relax and she lets herself fall back on the bed, still babbling, “Oh my god, oh my god.”

With the pain now relieved in my scalp, my attention turns to other areas that need relief. There’s still a strong pulse between my legs, and I am very aware of my own cum dribbling down my thighs. But an orgasm is not what I crave most right now. My eyes lock on Katniss, how she’s lying back with her hands covering her eyes, trying to regain a grip on reality. I hadn’t even realized just how close she was to coming, and I’d still hoped to finish her off with my tongue. On her actual body, I mean. Of course, I still can.

Standing up on my knees with purpose, I immediately go for the harness straps. Katniss slides her hands off her face, but before she can figure out what’s going on, I’m ripping the whole setup off of her. I pitch it aggressively over the bed just as she asks, “What are you–”

“I didn’t get to taste you,” is all the explanation needed. Pulling her hips toward me, I drape her knees over my shoulders and immediately bury my mouth and nose in the delicious sight and smell. My hands slide up her stomach and worm under her bra to roll her nipples. Arching up, she grabs my left hand and guides it to her back to remove the offending garment. I’m not going to argue. The soft flesh and stiff peaks feel amazing in my palms, and I sweep my thumbs over them as I explore her folds with my tongue. But I have only moments to savor her juices before her whimpers of frustration and nails piercing my scalp demand I turn my attention elsewhere.

She’s still worked up, I can tell from the way her hips shake the second I make contact with her clit, from the desperate moans already spilling from her lips. So I make quick work of her, fluttering my tongue as fast and as hard as I can, not bothering to come up for breath until just before I wrap my lips around her. I suck with all the force I can muster, still licking at a bruising pace, and groan with approval when I feel her suddenly pulse under my tongue as the rest of her body jolts.

Katniss emits a loud moan and then a sustained cry that warbles with her body. Then she finds words. “Johanna! Oh my god, Johanna. Shit! I…” That’s cut off by another moan from the aftershocks, which my tongue is still helping drag out. When she quiets down a bit, I go in for my dessert, slurping up all that leaked out during that latest orgasm.

My one hand drops between my legs before the other even finishes wiping the residue from my lips. I’m aching, trembling with need, and I can’t wait a second longer. The wet noises echo throughout the room as I rub myself furiously, and that’s enough to bring Katniss back. She gawks dumbly for a few seconds before waving me over. “Come here,” she commands me huskily.

Needing no second prompt, I scramble onto the bed and her waiting mouth. “Finish me,” I breathe, just as her greedy tongue darts out to sweep through my folds. She doesn’t waste time like I did, though. After just a couple teasing laps and one plunge into my hole, she’s sucking hard, then flicking at a blistering pace, and then sucking again. Her nails dig into my backside as she continues to alternate back and forth.

She does as I asked in under a minute, easily. My hips gyrate over her mouth like they have a mind of their own as her name falls from my lips again and again. My legs quake madly, and most of my weight is about to end up on her face when I fall forward and brace my forearms on the mattress, moaning and flinching at her continued work. Katniss groans contently as she drinks every drop that comes out of me.

Eventually she gives my ass a playful little slap, signalling she’s done. Unsteadily crawling back down her body, I flop down and rest my head on her chest, listening to her pounding heart as we come down. I still thank god or fate or whatever every day that it’s still beating. Fingers of one hand tracing over the prominent muscles in my back, she brushes the other over my crown and leaves a kiss on my hairline. With a contented hum, I burrow deeper.

Thinking back over our previous activities, I grin into her chest. “Jeez, Everdeen, I didn’t know you had penis envy.”

Katniss wrinkles her nose. “What does that mean?”

“That you wish you had one.”

“What?” she all but gasps, pushing up onto her elbows. She looks so scandalized, I almost laugh out loud. “I do not!”

Raising an eyebrow, I nod to the edge of the bed.“You sure liked that.”

“It was hot, being able to see what you were doing for once. Doesn’t mean I actually want one. Gross.”

That grin of mine only grows wider. “Yeah, you know, I don’t think I’m worried about Peeta anymore.” Katniss scoffs but offers no argument, lying back down on the mattress. Leaning closer, I give her a tentative sniff. “You need a shower.”

“And whose fault is that?” she sasses me, clearly not catching my drift. So I stand and offer her a hand. Still, it’s a few seconds until her eyebrows arch in understanding. “Oh, together. Right, that’s a thing.”

An involuntary chuckle turns my lips upward. “Yes, it’s a thing, brainless.” Not that we’ve really had the chance before. We’ve only been living together a short time, and it’s not something I would have tried in the barracks. Plus, I’m not really into shower sex; it’s awkward and not worth the effort. Shower make outs, on the other hand, I am partial to. Turns out, Katniss enjoys them as well. Or the lazy post-coital kind, anyway.

Both of us now tuckered out, when we’re done we decide to settle in for an afternoon nap. She doesn’t argue when I put her into little spoon position, wrapping her up and placing tiny kisses behind her ear. Though I’m exhausted, I don’t allow myself to drift off until her breathing goes shallow, indicating sleep.

How long we sleep, I am not sure, but a series of little bumps against my body eventually wakes me. Apparently still asleep, Katniss is jerking around, balled up with muscles clenched. “Hey, Katniss!” I call, giving her a shake after backing up a little, not wanting to get swatted. “Katniss, wake up!” A couple shakes later, she jolts upright and whips her head from side to side, panting hard. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I tell her, scooting closer to wrap my arms around her loosely. “You’re with me, it was just a nightmare.”

Pushing out a heavy breath, Katniss grips one of my forearms and gives it a grateful squeeze. She leans to the side to rest her head on my shoulder and I rub a soothing thumb up and down her belly. As she calms her breathing, she looks up with a sad smile. “Thanks, Johanna. You made me forget for a while.” Swallowing hard, she drops her eyes to the blankets. “Forget everything.”

Things do get easier, in time. But even as the months pass and her mood improves, there’s something behind her eyes that rarely goes away. It’s the same hollowness I saw in Scar’s eyes on TV and on the rooftop. Katniss has seen things she can’t unsee. Done things she can’t undo. And as much as I hate to admit it, Scar was right. There’s nothing I can do to make it go away. All I can do is try to drown it out. Make it tolerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm moving next week, so there may be some delays in updates for this and other stories for a bit. Thanks in advance for your patience. :)
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and suggestions, helpful as always.


	21. Flesh and Blood (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, some of the details regarding the Harvest Festival have been changed to clear up some timing conflicts with canon. There's been a few minor updates to chapter 4 to make everything line up.

“Mm. Don’t stop,” I murmur, threading my fingers in Katniss’s loose hair.

A throaty chuckle sounds from between my legs, echoes against my flesh as she presses a kiss to my inner thigh. Finally she lifts her head, looking very pleased with herself. “Just how many orgasms do you need?”

“Enough to tide me over for a couple weeks.”

“Please, like you won’t take care of that yourself.” Shifting into a kneeling position, she tells me, “Seriously, though, I gotta get some food in me and take a shower. Cinna will be here soon to work on my talent.”

With a petulant groan, I pout, “Can’t you just tell them your talent is cunnilingus?” 

Katniss’s cheeks darken and eyes drop immediately, making me grin with satisfaction. I will never get tired of making her blush. Brushing her bangs behind her ear, she shares a little smirk with me before her eyes flit away again. “I don’t think I can say that on television.”

“The Capitol would find it much more interesting than fashion design.”

“True,” she concurs, “but they always film you performing your talent or showing off your work, so…”

“Even better. People eat that shit up. Pun intended.”

Though she tries to keep it subtle, I catch Katniss sneaking a quick peek at the part of my body I’m referring to, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Not that she needs to be sneaky about it. Giving my knee an affectionate jostle with one palm, she scoots off the bed and grabs her sleeping pants from the floor. “The whole entourage will be here by noon, so you might wanna make yourself scarce.” Suddenly registering how that sounded, she catches my eye and tacks on, “No offense.”

“None taken,” I assure her airily. “I get it, I’m the illicit temptress.”

She winks, throwing me a grin as she steps into the pants. “Hell yeah you are.”

While Katniss pulls her pajama top over her head, I slink up to her, still stark naked. As soon as her arms come down, I snatch her wrists and place her hands on my breasts. Though small in size, they are two of her biggest weaknesses. Narrowing her eyes, she makes this amazing sound in the back of her throat that takes me from teasing to actually wanting in a heartbeat. A tiny growl behind closed lips, conveying multiple types of frustration at once. Squeezing the soft flesh, she leans into me and kisses me hard, forcing her tongue past my lips.

I’ll also never get tired of getting a rise out of her. Of the blinding lust that turns her into a feral animal. Of knowing I’m the only one who can do that to her, no matter what those Capitol idiots think.

At least this is one thing that has sort of gone back to normal. Katniss is starting to feel less vulnerable, at least around me, so she’s more able to relax and lose herself in the moment. She still suffers some dysfunction at times, but thankfully this is not one of those times. It would be awfully disappointing considering we won’t get another shot at it in the next 12 days.

Pulling back just enough to catch her breath, Katniss drags her fingers down my stomach. One hand stops at my hip but the other sinks lower, and I groan as she slips it back where I want it. “Fuck,” I whisper. Her lips turn up against mine. A few gentle touches later, they move to my cheek and leave a peck there just as she pulls away entirely.

As she heads for the door, still wearing that cheeky grin, I growl, “I fucking hate you.”

“You love me,” she calls over her shoulder.

She’s halfway down the stairs by the time I grumble, “That too.”

Still sulking over being beaten at my own game, I take my time dressing in my off-duty uniform. I should be on duty today, but last night I knocked on Purnia’s door and told her I was “feeling sick.” She rolled her eyes and told me she’d already made Monday’s schedule without me. Apparently, I’m very predictable so far as Katniss is concerned. But she warned me not to try anything like that upon Katniss’s return, because she’d need me for the rally in the Square during the Harvest Festival. Knowing better than to scorn a favor from Purnia, I didn’t complain.

Downstairs, I find the whole family in the kitchen; Prim also got the day off so she can do interviews. Katniss is casually munching on some toast as I walk in, and she flashes me the bedroom eyes and a grin, apparently still reveling in her victory upstairs. Equally bratty, I stick my tongue out at her like a pissed off little sister.

I’m just licking the residual jam from my fingers after my last piece of toast when the sound of a car door closing outside startles us all. My stomach gurgles and sinks, my face suddenly slack. Speaking my thoughts aloud, Mrs. Everdeen remarks, “Already? It’s not even eleven.”

“It’s good,” says Katniss. “I need as much time as I can get with Cinna. Find out about these fashion pieces I’ve been designing.”

“Because you’re the most stylish woman I know,” I tease, trying to put some light back in my eyes. Another door sounds, making me shudder the smallest bit.

Apparently not noticing my discomfort, Katniss tosses back, “Excuse you, I am the darling of the Capitol.”

“And it clearly has nothing to do with your sunny disposition,” I drawl.

Prim groans, throwing us a sidelong glance. “Oh, just make out already.”

Despite the sadness tainting my mood, I can’t help but chuckle. The kid has been picking up more of my vernacular since I moved in. I approve. Catching Katniss’s eye, I find her looking similarly amused. It’s only a second or two before I break. Shuffling closer, I sling my arms around her neck. Bury my face in her chest, as though I can block out this reality. Her arms wrap around my back and hold me tightly for the last moments they can.

Really, I should be the one comforting her. I know how much Katniss has been dreading the Victory Tour, how she fears the nightmares from having to relive the traumatic events of her Games. Sleeping alone won’t help her either. I wish I could go with her, but that obviously wouldn’t slide what with the fake romance she’s still having to play up. Selfish as it may be, though, right now I don’t want to object to being held. And Katniss doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t move or speak. Neither does she, other than to rest her cheek against my crown.

Mercifully, it feels like ages before the doorbell rings. Even then, it’s a moment before any of us react. “I’ll get it,” Prim offers, standing slowly. But she makes no move for the door, eyes on us.

“I know, I know,” I grouse. “I have to go.” Lifting my face, I catch Katniss’s sad eyes. “Don’t wanna ruin the illusion for your Capitol pets.” Pushing up on my toes, I connect our lips in a firm, decisive kiss.

Sensing the finality in the gesture, Katniss returns the kiss and slides her hands down my sides until they slip off my hips. “See you when I get back.”

Forcing a smile, I warn her, “Don’t have too much fun.”

Her dark chuckle matches the shadows in her expression. “Oh, I’m sure I won’t.”

***

Hands jammed deep in my pockets, I hustle through the snowdrifts along the fence on my way to the Victor’s Village that evening. Not only am I rushing to escape the freezing wind, I haven’t exactly enjoyed my exile to the barracks. My official quarters feels lonely and confined now, after three months of living with the Everdeens. Unable to relax enough to read, I opted to go to the gym and work off some tension there until my comrades were off shift and I had people to hang out with. Anything to avoid the broadcast from the Village, which I knew would no doubt involve a lot of kissing and various other puke-worthy things.

Skipping up the steps at the back of the house, I grab the doorknob and pause. The train left a while ago, but maybe there are still some Capitol people to worry about? Deciding to play it safe, I knock. When the door opens, I’m glad to see it’s Mrs. Everdeen on the other side. “All clear?”

“Oh, Johanna,” she greets me, sounding incredibly relieved. “Thank goodness you’re back.”

Kicking the snow from my boots, I tease her, “Miss me already?”

“Yes, but there’s…” Stepping back, she points to the sink. It takes a few moments to wriggle my feet from my wet boots, and she spends the whole time wringing her hands. I’m halfway across the room before I see it. A spider no larger than a coin is chilling on the wall.

“Oh, I see.” Grabbing a spatula from the pile of dishes, I swat the thing dead in one blow.

Mrs. Everdeen audibly releases a held breath behind me, making me smirk. Adorable. “Sorry, I usually get Katniss to do it.”

“I know,” I tell her as I wipe the guts off the wall. “So I’m the new designated spider killer?”

“Until she gets back.”

Moving to the stove, I lift the lid on the pot of delicious smelling stew. “Should I set the table?”

When we sit down to eat a few minutes later, I’m too busy stuffing my face to talk, but thankfully Prim can carry a conversation by herself. She’s babbling about her interviews and how nice the prep team was, and I don’t listen too carefully until she mentions President Snow.

Finally alert, I swallow my mouthful of stew and catch her eye. “President Snow was here?”

“Yeah, that was him who showed up early, not Cinna,” she informs me. “Katniss was disappointed. But he was very friendly. He liked my dress.”

“He always comes to wish the victor luck before the Tour,” her mother quickly adds. Huh, I’ve never heard that. Maybe none of the victors I know ever thought it was worth mentioning. President Snow may be powerful but he’s not exactly the kind of celebrity you namedrop.

“Cool,” I say before digging back into the meal. I’m distracted again a moment later when I feel a hand come to rest on my left forearm. Blinking up, I find Mrs. Everdeen studying me.

“How are you holding up?”

“I didn’t watch, if that’s what you mean,” I answer flatly, having no desire whatsoever to talk about this right now. Of course I’m not in a great mood. “I don’t wanna be depressed for two weeks straight.”

“Will you watch the Tour at all?” she presses, lifting an eyebrow.

“Probably,” I admit. “I’m sure by tomorrow I’ll be itching to get a glimpse of her. Hopefully they don’t play up the romance angle too much.”

It’s probably too much to hope for. From the look Prim and her mom share, I’m guessing they think the same.

***

The first few days of the Tour make me think maybe we were wrong. If Katniss and Peeta are trying to push the romance, it’s coming across very awkwardly. Katniss isn’t engaged with him at all and appears to be hanging on by a thread, panic in her eyes every time she is onstage. Especially after her heartfelt eulogy to Rue ends with the crowd saluting her and a few people getting shot. Her speech and parts of Peeta’s were cut from the broadcast, but the full footage was available on one of our secure channels back at the barracks. Those Peacekeepers were probably looking for any reason to crack down in revenge for the lives they lost in the riot, and this disturbance gave them one. Katniss no doubt blames herself, though, so it’s no surprise she’s tense after that.

Things don’t really improve much. The Tour is mostly a shitshow and the couple’s utter lack of chemistry becomes even more obvious the more they try to push it. To me, anyway, but I know them. The Capitol still seems to be buying it, according to the commentary we hear onscreen. The buzz about the Star Crossed Lovers coming to town grows to a fever pitch as they reach the last few districts, and it’s completely nauseating. They make several appearances in the Capitol on Saturday and those idiots fawn all over them and just about swoon every time they kiss.

By the time Saturday night rolls around, I’ve just about had it. Only knowing that I’ll get to see Katniss the next day makes my emotional state at all tolerable. A few hours after a dinner I sulk through, the three of us gather in the living room to watch the broadcast from the stage in front of the Training Center. As they do the lead up to the interview and Caesar gets the crowd riled up to see the Star Crossed Lovers, my stomach lurches and I’m filled with dread. Standing from the couch, I tell the others, “Yeah, I can’t do this.”

“Hanna…” Prim’s soft voice calls my gaze down to her sympathetic eyes. I think she’s about to ask me to stay, but all she says is, “It’s not real, you know that.”

“You’re right, I do,” I say confidently. “But I’ve had my fill of the Star Crossed Lovers. Besides, it’s late. I’m going to bed.” I don’t have to work in the morning, but the time difference sucks and there’s no point throwing my internal clock off rhythm just to watch the love of my life gush about her fake boyfriend. No thank you.

It was a good decision, I know that as soon as I wake up refreshed and with a huge smile on my face. Today. Katniss is coming home today.

Mrs. Everdeen is in the kitchen when I come downstairs, putting together an order for someone in some tiny glass jars. She must have already eaten. Despite my early retirement last night, I had my usual Sunday sleep in. Katniss still goes hunting with Gale early on Sundays, it’s especially important to her now that it’s his only day off from the mines. But I’m not sharing her with him at all once she’s done her bullshit dinner with the mayor tonight, no sir. It’s just gonna be me and her and hopefully our bed.

“Morning, Johanna,” says Mrs. Everdeen.

“Morning,” I sing-song on my way by, not even trying to hide my massive grin. She doesn’t comment on it, probably knowing exactly what’s on my mind.

“Where are you off to?” she inquires neutrally as I reach the door.

“The gym. Then probably the Square for the festivities.” My grin grows impossibly larger. “Can’t sit still waiting for Katniss to come back.”

She gives me a weak smile in return. “Want some coffee?”

I glance at the coffee maker on the counter, Mrs. Everdeen’s most prized possession in the whole house. Katniss says she all but jumped up and down when she saw it sitting on the counter when they first moved in. Apparently she acquired a taste for coffee back during her days in town, when her family could afford it. “How old is it?”

“An hour or so.”

Wrinkling my nose, I decide, “I’ll just get a fresh one at the barracks, I’m grabbing breakfast there anyway. Thanks, though.”

As I’m straightening up from tying my boots, she speaks up again. “Johanna.” Shrugging on my jacket, I catch her eye. “You know I had my doubts about you, about all of this,” she begins. When I nod, she continues, “I just want you to know, I’m so happy you’re in Katniss’s life. You’ve been good for her. For all of us.”

Feeling myself starting to blush, I wrestle some sense of control back by flashing her a charming smile. “Ah, Mrs. E., sorry but I’m taken.”

She snickers and shakes her head. “Get out of here, you saucy thing.” Unable to pass up an opportunity to make a woman laugh, I wiggle my butt on the way out the door.

At the barracks I change into gym clothes, program a large brunch into Martha, then head to the Commune to make that coffee. The rec hall is completely empty but a couple of the TVs are on anyway, as usual. The one closer to me is showing a replay of last night’s interview, because of course it is. The other appears to be on one of the secure channels, and as my drink dispenses I wander over to take a look.

My stomach turns as I see all the dead bodies on the ground, many of them dressed in white and stripped of their armor and weapons. The feed numbers indicate District 8, though. They probably didn’t pull any volunteers from here this time, we’re not that close. By the looks of it, the tide has turned anyway. Bombed buildings smoke in the background while reinforcements swarm the streets. Still, the sight makes me shiver.

My coffee is almost gone by the time Martha spits out my food. I should try to pace myself so I don’t get a huge caffeine rush, but my nerves are now doubly raw and I can’t stay still. Drinking is something to do, and coffee is a better option than alcohol right now. Returning to the Commune with my plate, I set it down on one of the tables. I’m pulling the chair out when I sneak a glance at the nearest TV and see Peeta kneeling before Katniss on the stage.

The world goes out of focus for a second, my gut seizing and ears ringing. Shaking myself out of it, I march to the coffee table next to the nearest couch and grab the remote. “What the fuck? He didn’t,” I growl under my breath, turning up the volume.

He did. He finishes his long-winded, flowery speech and then pops the question. This isn’t like the first interview he did on this stage, when Katniss was caught off guard and obviously pissed about it. No, Katniss’s enthusiastic yes tells me this was planned. She pulls Peeta to his feet and into a passionate kiss, fisting his hair and suit jacket. The audience goes berserk. My mouth slips open. I only realize how tight I’m squeezing the mug and remote when the volume swells. The racket suits the chaos in my head.

It takes me a moment to move, at least by choice. The clenched fists and shaking of my body, those are involuntary. But finally I get my foot to shoot out and kick the coffee table, knocking it on its side. Flinging away the remote, I wind up and hurl the nearly empty mug at the wall. It shatters on contact, pieces flying everywhere and coffee splashing on the wall and floor. “God fucking damn it!”

A door slams nearby, but I barely hear it between the broadcast and the heartbeat pounding in my ears. A couple seconds later, Purnia barks, “Mason!” Stalking into the room with an expression both disbelieving and disappointed, she lectures, “This is not acceptable.”

The shaking returns as a new wave of rage fills my body. “You know what’s not acceptable?” I seethe, pointing at the TV.

Purnia keeps an infuriatingly straight face as she says, “I didn’t exactly expect you to throw her an engagement party, but I thought you were more mature than this.”

It feels like I’ve been physically slapped. My jaw drops and I have to give my head a quick shake. “Wow, Purnia. Return of the ice queen, huh? Some friend you are.”

“CO first, friend second,” she reminds me. “Clean up your mess.”

Her refusal to show emotion only makes me want to get a reaction more. To get under her skin, hurt her, make her feel the way I do. “Jeez, someone needs to take a trip to Four,” I retort. “Or Two.”

Her jaw tightens as she glares warningly. “I am not telling you again. Clean up your mess, Agent. Now. And without any more of your lip.”

This is not going to end well. Purnia is just as stubborn as Katniss, and I’ve learned when to stop pushing her. Huffing to myself, I surrender by bending over to grab the table. But on the way down, I can’t resist a final dig. “Bitch,” I mutter under my breath.

“Fine.” As I flip the table upright and look up, I see her grabbing a notepad from her back pocket. Seriously? Hearing my scoff of disbelief, she casts me cursory glance as she flips it open. “Take me at my word, Mason,” she says, jotting something down. “It’s a warning, but it’s going on your record.”

“Whatever,” I scowl, turning away so she can’t see the emotion building in my face. Worse things have happened. Like this. Right now. My eyes are drawn to the blaring TV again as I stomp toward it. Caesar has started raving, ecstatic about the engagement, and I can’t stand it a second longer. I punch the power button as hard as I dare for fear of knocking the whole thing over.

The silence is actually kind of worse.

As I squat to pick up the shards of ceramic, Purnia admonishes, “At least don’t be an idiot. Use a broom.” Her footsteps fade, I assume as she goes to fetch me one. But her warning only makes me want to disobey.

I gather half a dozen pieces in my palm before a sharp pain in my grabbing hand makes me drop a piece. “Ow! Fuck!” Dropping the others, I squeeze my right ring finger instinctively. When I get the courage to let go and look at it after several seconds, I find my fingers already coated in blood. Even with the throbbing pain, it’s the sight of blood flowing down over both my palms that finally reduces me to tears.

Hearing Purnia’s return, I look up, suddenly too tired to care how helpless I must look. She stops short behind the couch as she sees me. “Damn it, Johanna,” she sighs. Detouring to the coffee counter, she grabs a rag and calmly approaches, squatting beside me. “Here,” she says, “put pressure on it.” Gently grabbing my wrist, she squeezes my finger with the towel. “You’re a medic, you know this shit.” What is intended to be a snort comes out as a sniffle, and her eyes flick to my face. “Hey,” she whispers, moving her right hand to my shoulder.

“Stop,” I protest, jerking away from her touch. “You can’t keep doing this.” She squints inquisitively and I specify, “Yelling at me and then hugging me. You’re not my mother.”

In only a blink, her face goes hard again. But her voice remains soft. “Would you rather I not care about you?”

“It would be easier,” I state bluntly. She maintains her hard stare, but the subtle bob of her throat tells me I’ve hurt her feelings. Good. Silently releasing my finger, she reaches for the broom and dustpan she laid on the floor. “Leave it,” I snap. “I’ll take care of it.” When she dares look me in the eye again, I harshen my glare. “Like you ordered, Captain Stark.”

Without another word, Purnia stands and retreats. Well, that was easy. My fleeting sense of triumph fades when she disappears, though, because I expect to feel satisfaction and I don’t. Only emptiness and a niggling sense of guilt. Fortunately, I can ignore that thanks to all the other emotions vying for my attention.

Since I lack the constitution to give myself stitches, I use wound closures on my finger and wrap it tight with a couple bandaids. The last thing I want to do is clean up my own blood mixed with coffee, but I do a sparkling job just to spite Purnia and prove how little I need her fucking help. I’m exhausted but completely wired by the time I finally make it to the gym. Having lost my appetite, I work out on an empty stomach, fueled by caffeine and rage. My mind swirls with questions the entire time, mostly ‘why would she do this?’. In the end, I conclude it doesn’t matter why. The result is the same.

***

It’s weird, sneaking into your own home. But that’s what I do when I get back to the Village, easing open the door and peeking around it, searching for any signs of life. Finding none, I tiptoe over to the stairs and check the living room on the way by. They seem to be out. Perfect.

In our room - no, Katniss’s room - I dig my huge duffel bag out from under the bed and start rifling through the closet, ripping out anything that belongs to me and tossing it on the bed. I left some stuff at the barracks, but the majority of it is here. Pitching the hangers one by one into the closet, I stuff the clothes in the bag. It feels good. After gathering my stuff from the bathroom, I move on to the dresser to grab all my pants and nightclothes. Spotting my dog tags on top of it, I swipe them up with a scowl.

I’ve just grabbed my slippers from the foot of the bed when I hear the front door open and close, making my gut sink. “Shit.” Two familiar voices filter up the stairs, and I hurriedly sweep the room for anything else of mine. A couple books on the nightstand on what was my side, a few things in the laundry hamper. I remember the strap-on at the last minute but decide to leave it, I don’t want that reminder. Let Katniss stick her dick up Peeta’s ass. He’d probably love it.

It’s Prim’s footsteps I hear on the stairs. Her mother has a heavier tread and walks slower. Everything about Prim is light and hopeful. It’s not fair, what the world has done to her. Her knock pulls me from my thoughts. “Johanna?” When I don’t reply, she knocks again. “Johanna, I know you’re here. Your boots are by the door.” Fuck. Continuing to pack, I hope she gets the point and just leaves. Unfortunately, youngest children aren’t known for going away when we know we’re being annoying. “Okay, I’m coming in,” she warns me. “Not my fault if you’re naked.”

Great. Sighing heavily, I steel myself. Still, I am not prepared for the look of utter disappointment on Prim’s face as she opens the door and catches me mid-escape. Especially combined with pity, another thing I can’t stand. Shaking my head, I avert my eyes to the bed and resume packing. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re leaving _now_?” demands Prim, crossing the room to join me at the bedside. “Katniss needs you.”

“Believe it or not, Prim, not everything is about Katniss,” I reply evenly. “I have to protect myself for a change.”

“Katniss is the one who’s always protecting everyone,” retorts Prim. Sneering at the bag, she adds, “And you don’t even have the decency to confront her face-to-face? You’re a coward.”

“She’s the coward,” I shoot back. “It’s Katniss who’s bowing to public pressure instead of following her heart.”

“How do you know? You haven’t even talked to her,” she points out. She’s right, but I ignore her, focusing on packing again. “You said just last night that you know it’s fake. What changed?”

“Nothing. I still know it’s fake. Doesn’t matter.”

“So you’re breaking your own heart on purpose?”

Finally looking up, I scoff in exasperation. “Why do you even care?”

“Because I like you!” Her tone and eyes are incredibly earnest, forcing me to look away again. As much satisfaction as I get from hurting some people, Prim is not one of them. “And she likes you. Before the Games… I haven’t seen her that happy since before Dad died.”

My eyes stay on the bag as I swallow to combat the tightness in my throat. This is upsetting me and it’s the last thing I need right now. “It’s not my job to make your sister happy.”

“It kind of is,” she counters, crossing her arms. “You wanted to be her girlfriend. You signed up for it.”

“Yeah, I signed up for dating a girl from the Seam, not a celebrity victor with a fake husband. I wasn’t expecting her to volunteer.”

“Well if she hadn’t, I’d be dead,” states Prim. “So there’s that.”

It’s a pretty damn good point. “And she’d be super depressed,” I concede. Twitching my mouth, I shrug sadly. “Either way, Effie Trinket screwed us.”

“Shit happens, Johanna.” Prim’s uncharacteristic profanity makes me blink hard. I must really be rubbing off on her now. Either that or she’s super pissed. “You’re the one who decides if you stay and fight. I never thought you were the type to give up.”

“I’m not giving up, I’m recognizing the futility of the situation and cutting my losses.” God, I’m so full of shit. Even I know it. But I’m not entirely wrong, either.

“You love her,” stresses Prim. “You can make it work.”

I chuckle ironically, eyes to the sky. “Ah, the naivety of youth.”

“Shut up,” she snaps. “You’re the one who’s being dramatic.”

Sensing an advantage and opportunity to end this, I retain my air of condescension and straighten up, exploiting what little height advantage I have left on Prim. She’s grown so much in the year I’ve known her, in more ways than one. Even now, she holds her ground as I look down on her, doing my best to make her feel small. “You’ve never had your heart broken, Prim,” I tell her, overly sweetly. “When Little Gale goes and hooks up with some other girl, and you see them kissing at school and can’t escape the situation, then you can come talk to me about this.”

The way Prim’s expression darkens, I can tell I’ve crossed a line. Never tease a twelve year-old about her crush. “You know what?” she spews, planting her clenched fists on her hips. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting, but that does not give you the right to be a huge jerk to everyone.” Then she storms away, slamming the door on the way out.

It may not give me the right, but it’s my natural defense mechanism. Shut everyone out before they can hurt me too.

A few minutes later, I descend the stairs with the big bag in tow. All but dragging it behind me, I maneuver my way into the kitchen and stop short at the sight of Mrs. Everdeen watching me quietly from her rocking chair near the fire. While I’m trying to think of something to say, she deadpans, “You made Prim lose her temper. Quite the accomplishment.”

Forcing a smile, I brag, “I aim high, what can I say?” Her expression doesn’t change, and mine droops. “You’re mad at me too.”

“I’m not mad. Disappointed.” God, what a motherly thing to say.

“Yeah,” I snort. “So am I.”

As I heft the strap onto my shoulder and turn for the door, she calls to me, “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Sighing, I catch her eye over my shoulder. “You know that’s not true.” Swallowing hard, I force out, “You knew it all along. There’s no future for us.” Her eyes are sad but her nod is understanding. She gets it. Returning the nod, I give her a weak, “Bye, Mrs. E.”

***

Though we’re still barely speaking, Purnia is kind enough not to schedule me in the Square on Monday, allowing me to avoid Katniss and the whole Harvest Festival/Victory Tour spectacle. But I know I won’t be able to avoid her forever, as much as I’d like to. She’s far too stubborn. I halfway expect her to come knock on my window on Wednesday, try to plead her case. As much as I dread having to see her, the longer she doesn’t show, the angrier I get. Maybe she doesn’t even care. I probably did her a favor, moving out so she didn’t have to kick me out.

When I go to the gym after lunch to work off some of my rage, I find Darius already there. We haven’t spoken since last week, haven’t been posted together at all. He gives me a friendly nod but seems to sense approaching is a bad idea. It’s not until he’s packing up to leave that he meanders over to the benches while I’m resting between sets. “So you’re sleeping at the barracks again, huh?” I give him a curt nod. “Can’t say I blame you.” Stalling a moment, he scratches behind his ear. “Have you talked to her?”

“No,” I answer shortly. “I’m done with her.”

Darius nods, eyeing me sympathetically. “I’m sorry.” I snort and he insists, “Really. I am.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, using picking up my weights as an excuse to look away. Darius gets the message and leaves but gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way by.

I’m still in a piss-poor mood on Thursday, and it’s only made worse when Purnia knocks on my door a couple hours after shift and informs me that I’ve been summoned to the mayor’s house. “Um, why?” I ask.

“Repairs,” she says. “Cray says he just called and said he can’t pick up his secure channel.”

Oh, that explains it. Typically if any building in town needs work they call in a local who does whatever trade is needed for a living, but if sensitive information is at stake no civilians are allowed. That’s why we do all of our own maintenance around the barracks, to keep the building secure. We each do a share of janitorial and learn the basics of at least one trade. Some of us are plumbers or electricians. My dad was a mechanic. I fix small appliances. On occasion, I electrocute myself with a dryer. Well, once.

“I’m guessing Troy doesn’t want to go out in the snow?” I ask Purnia. He has several years of experience on me and taught me most of what I know. Unfortunately, he also has seniority.

“He’s already at the Hob and probably drunk. Besides, Mayor Undersee asked for you specifically.” That raises my eyebrows. “Apparently his daughter said you’re very capable.”

Blinking this through, I conclude, “Right. She’s friends with Katniss. She saw me fixing the Everdeens’ coffee maker once.”

One corner of Purnia’s mouth twitches, but she pulls it back into a straight line to match her flat reply. “How domestic.” Handing me the work order, she disappears down the hall.

When I arrive at the mayor’s house, he explains that his one TV that picks up the secure emergency alerts has stopped working altogether. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he adds. “There’s been a lot of news lately and I can’t afford to miss any updates.”

Right, the uprising in District 8. There’s been much talk of the event around the barracks, but I haven’t paid much attention because I’ve been understandably preoccupied. It took them less than 48 hours to shut down the rebellion, anyway. There’s been no more updates out of there, but perhaps the mayor fears similar news out of other districts. I can’t blame him. Things have been tense nationwide since the Games.

“Of course, sir,” I reply, giving him a knowing nod to assure him I catch his drift. “Where can I find it?”

“Second floor,” he says, gesturing toward the stairwell. “First door on your right.”

The TV is on when I walk into the study, muted but showing static. Good. If it’s only a connectivity issue it should be an easy fix. Probably a loose wire somewh-

The door slams, making me jump and whip around mid-thought. I startle a second time when I see Katniss standing there glaring at me. She looks far from her most intimidating, however. Dark circles under her eyes, pale and hollow cheeks. From a cursory glance at her body, I can tell she’s lost at least ten pounds since she left for the Tour. I’m torn between asking if she’s okay and telling her she looks like shit. Deciding neither is a good idea, I settle on, “So Madge is your wingwoman, huh?”

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“That makes two of us,” I say. “That’s cute, forcing me here under orders.”

“You arrested me to force me to listen to you once,” she retorts, pulling something from her pocket and walking over to the TV. “This is no worse.”

As she squats behind the TV, I remark, “I was starting to think you had nothing to say at all. I was home all day yesterday, and not a peep.”

Screwing the piece back into place, Katniss states, “I was caught on camera like forty million times behind the barracks, and I can’t be seen with you right now.”

The screen crackles then fills with Katniss and Peeta’s faces, laughing and happy as they dance in the ballroom at the president’s mansion. Talk about insult to injury. “Of course you can’t. Have to keep up appearances.”

Katniss’s head snaps up. “That’s not why.”

“Sure.”

Standing and checking the picture, Katniss pushes the power button and turns my way. Finally without a convenient distraction, she can no longer hide the hurt in her expression. “If you hadn’t up and left on me, we could have talked at the house.”

“It’s probably bugged,” I deflect. “Besides, we both know I was gonna have to move out anyway. Seeing as you and Peeta will be sharing a marital bed soon enough.”

Katniss gives me a look. “You know it’s all an act.”

“Yeah, I know,” I tell her. Swallowing, I stand up straighter. “But you’ve taken this too far. I’m not going to be your mistress, Katniss.”

She must sense my internal distress, because she drops the defensive posture and eases herself closer. “Hanna, I can explain,” she says earnestly. “You need to understand why-”

“It doesn’t matter why. That’s not the point.” My voice threatens to crack as I declare, “There’s no place for me in your life.”

Katniss stops her approach, expression suddenly deadened. After a moment of loaded staring, she informs me, “President Snow personally threatened to have you killed.”

That is not something I was expecting. Maybe it should have been, but I’ve been actively avoiding thinking about her reasons. I am too stunned to respond, so she forges on. “He had videos of us kissing. He knows you’ve been living with me, sleeping in my bed.” Katniss doesn’t even blink let alone blush at that last admission, proving just how fully she dissociated in a matter of seconds.

“So what?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“He’s worried about rebellion in the districts. He thinks that they don’t believe the love story. And he can’t kill me now without further inflaming the situation and creating a martyr, but you’re expendable. He assured me he can dispose of you easily if you’re distracting me from Peeta.” Laying a firm hand on my upper arm, she squeezes urgently. “I did this to protect you.”

Feigning a dramatic swoon, I gasp, “Oh, my knight in shining armor!”

Anger flares up in Katniss’s eyes, contrasting her otherwise stony features. “What is wrong with you? Would you rather I let you die?”

“Yeah,” I state decidedly.

Her mouth slips open as she stares at me, searching my face for evidence to the contrary. “You don’t mean that.”

“A bullet to the head, quick and painless,” I muse, weighing my options. “This’ll be anything but. I can try to transfer out of the district, but it’s difficult.”

“Johanna, please don’t do that,” she begs, gripping my sleeve once more. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“And that’s the thing,” I spit, jerking my arm away. “You would rather put me through hell than let me die and have to live with it. You really are selfish, underneath it all.”

Katniss sets her jaw but refuses to take the bait. “Look. I have a plan. A way that we can be together.”

“I already know the plan. You keep me as your side ho for a few years, until you and Peeta fake a big fight and dramatic celebrity divorce.” Tipping my head, I challenge her, “And, what? I’m supposed to wait around for you?”

Face falling, Katniss drops her gaze. “I would.” She looks genuinely hurt, but I’m not in a position to care.

“Yeah, I’m not you.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like you’re gonna marry anyone else.”

My eyes narrow. “Low blow, Everdeen.”

Katniss blinks the emotion from her face. “Even if you could, you wouldn’t get the chance,” she tells me. “My acting wasn’t convincing enough. He’s going to kill you.” Glaring at the carpet, she grumbles, “Maybe my family too, to spite me.”

It takes me a moment to absorb her words and register the bone-chilling terror they sent through me. She was right about one thing, at least: I don’t want to die. Concealing my fear as best I can, I lift my chin proudly. “Well at least I won’t live to see you marry Bread Boy.”

“I am not losing you. I have a plan to make this right and keep everyone alive,” she insists. Her eyes dart from side to side and she admits, “But you’re right, there’s mics and cameras everywhere. We can’t risk talking about it here.” She huffs under her breath. “Or anywhere.”

I sigh. This is getting exhausting. “You’re not the only one with a say in this, Katniss.”

Her stare starts off helpless, turning desperate just before she grabs my face with both hands and presses forward for a kiss. It’s not a wild, passionate one. It’s closed-mouth, firm and lingering. Possessive. I purse my lips in return, the only action that’s really needed. For a moment I simply enjoy the way our foreheads and noses are smushed together, the adorable way her eyes have scrunched shut as she puts all her effort into making me feel this.

Finally pulling back, her eyes open and hold mine with an intensity that prohibits me from even blinking. “I love you.” Something changes in her face then, as though she’s just had a novel thought. Her features solidify into quiet determination and she instructs me, “Meet me where I told you that for the first time, this Sunday. I’ll wait all day if I have to.” Lingering just a moment, she brushes her thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Please, don’t let that be our last.”

Then she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my tireless beta D7P for continuing to help with this fic.


	22. Flesh and Blood (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is not the fluffiest chapter of all time.

Katniss’s invitation occupies my thoughts all day Friday as I consider the merits of a trip to the lake. I can find it on my own now, as we made many a trek there in the months following her victory. We haven’t been back since the snow started, and I miss it. Whereas at the house I sometimes felt a quiet unease, worried that Scar was right and we were under surveillance, the lake felt like freedom. It was freedom. We’d swim. Shoot guns. Make love. Whatever we felt like. Best of all, we could talk about whatever we wanted without any apprehension.

That’s why Katniss picked it. Whatever half-cocked scheme is swirling around behind her eyes, it’s too dangerous to discuss anywhere near the district. While I’m wary of trusting Katniss or her logic and planning skills at this point, I’m also intrigued. And ultimately, that’s why I need to go. Because if I don’t, I’ll spend my whole life wondering if things could have been different if only I had given her a chance to make things right. If I even survive the coming weeks, that is, which her warning has made me doubt. That’s the other reason I begrudgingly decide to accept the invitation. With my life possibly on the line, I don’t really have a choice.

I’m already jittery with anticipation a day in advance when I enter the briefing room Saturday morning. The fact that I find Cray standing at the front alongside Purnia does little to soothe my anxiety. He mostly works from home, and his rare appearances at morning briefings typically signal trouble.

When he calls the meeting to order, that seems not to be the case for once. “I won’t take up much of Captain Stark’s time, but I’m here to set your minds at ease,” he tells us. “I know many of you have been concerned since the uprising in District 8. We do, after all, have one of the lowest Peacekeeper-to-civilian ratios in the country.”

It’s true. I was far from the only one shaken by the graphic images of Peacekeepers lying dead and maimed in the streets. Giving us a smile of assurance, Cray continues, “The government shares your concern, and has made a pledge to beef up security in every district to help keep its soldiers safe. There’s a Commander coming to town tomorrow to help us make the necessary adjustments, and I’m told we’ll have reinforcements arriving within the next several days.” It’s too early in the morning for cheering, but mumbles of approval spread throughout the room. Despite the positive tone of his statement, Cray finishes with a warning. “I expect everyone to be on their best behavior for the duration of this Commander’s visit.”

Stepping forward with her clipboard of assignments, Purnia jumps in, “That means no wandering from your posts, no black market excursions, and no backtalk.” Her eyes land on me during that last point and I cock an eyebrow.

Reinforcements. It’s almost too good to be true. Only two new Peacekeepers have been added to our ranks since I arrived a year ago, and one of them was to replace the dead would-be rapist Milo Fields. Outpost 1201 is perpetually underfunded, lacking more resources than just bodies. But bodies are a good place to start.

It’s not until shortly after nine the following morning that I realize this development may not be entirely good news. I’m packing my rucksack with the things I figure I’ll need for this trip to the lake house. Food, a change of socks, plenty of alcohol. As I’m securing the straps, I hear quick footsteps traversing the hallway, ending with an urgent rapping on my door. My brow furrows as I cross the room to open it, revealing Purnia. Her face is even paler than usual, but her eyes are dark, pupils blown.

She looks scared. I’ve never seen that before.

Our recent spats suddenly so far from my mind, I raise my eyebrows in concern. “Purnia, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Agent,” she says, stiffening her posture. “I need you in the Commune in five minutes.”

“For a game of hoverpuck?” I joke in an attempt to break the tension.

It doesn’t work; her reply is every bit as terse as her greeting. “Mass meeting. The whole outpost.” That explains the odd choice of venue, if nothing else. The Commune is the only room in the barracks large enough to fit 80+ people. “Get geared up,” she advises me as she moves on to knock on more doors. “Don’t be late.”

After stowing the suspicious packed bag under my bed and changing into my uniform, I throw on my boots and hurry down the hall. With this ominous feeling stirring my gut, I decide instead to focus on the bitterness I feel for the loss of my personal time. They wouldn’t be getting me to gear up unless they were sending me out on duty, so I hope it’s not for long. Despite what she said, Katniss won’t wait all day. If I’m lucky, I can at least catch her on her way back, speak to her at a safe distance from the district. But given that Purnia caught me two minutes before I was going to be out the door, I’m not feeling so lucky today. Then again, if I couldn’t be located within the district, that would have caused trouble of its own.

The thunder of dozens of boots rumbles from the foyer down to the gear room, further unsettling my stomach as I strap on my armor amid the melee of afternoon shifters suiting up. Seems I’m not the only one being pressed into service. Once I’ve grabbed my helmet and loaded my handgun, I hustle to the Commune to look for Darius. He always seems to know what’s happening.

Darius’s helmet is off, making my search much easier. He’s standing near the coffee counter as I approach, fingers wound in his unmistakeable red hair. Once I’ve elbowed my way close enough to see his face, I can read the distress lurking under the surface. Sidling up to him, I nudge his side and lift a questioning eyebrow. “They took Cray,” is all he says.

I blink. “Took?”

“I was part of the group stationed in the Square with Cray to welcome Thread, that new Commander,” he elaborates. “Thread’s lackeys cuffed and black bagged Cray in broad daylight, threw him in the back of a hummer.”

And here I was, fearing this would be bad news. “Good riddance.”

“I don’t think so.” Catching my eye, Darius nods to the front of the room. “Careful what you wish for.”

Peeking through the mess of taller bodies, I survey the area as best I can. There’s about a dozen new Peacekeepers standing near the front, all of them wearing heavy tactical armor. Purnia’s up there too, making fast and copious notes on her clipboard while a rattled Captain Rawley stands by idly. Purnia in charge is the second best consequence of Cray’s departure after ridding the district of another sexual predator, so I don’t get what Darius is on about until I catch a glimpse of the Head Peacekeeper’s uniform. And how it’s not on Purnia, but a tall and hulking man.

“A new Head?” I gape. Darius nods. “But that’s not fair! What about Purnia?”

“I guess they think she’s part of the problem,” he mutters wryly.

“What problem?”

A cracking noise pulls our attention up front, where the new Head is rapping a table with the butt end of one of the pool cues. “Attention, everyone!” he bellows into the room. Once the last whispers die down, he continues in his normal voice. It’s still frightening, though, deep and authoritative. Menacing, even.

“I’m Commander Thread, your new Head Peacekeeper,” he says in introduction. “Commander Cray has been relieved of his duties due to the substandard state of this outpost and district. I’m sure you are all aware of what transpirsed in District 8, and it is my job to ensure that won’t happen here. There’s rebellion brewing in the districts, and I’ve been tasked with putting it out at the source.”

“Oh, shit,” I breathe. There has been little of anything brewing in District 12. They don’t have the numbers to stage an uprising. So I know what source he is talking about. The girl on fire.

“He was one of the people they brought in after the riot in Eleven to help ‘restore order,’” Darius whispers into his collar. “He specializes in crackdowns. I’m not sure he’s fully human.”

“To make our presence felt, we need all hands on deck until the rest of the reinforcements arrive tomorrow morning,” continues Thread. “Those of you on the morning and afternoon shifts will all be working until ten o’clock this evening.” Though no one dares voice any displeasure, he knows enough to assure us, “Captain Rawley will be coordinating ration delivery throughout the day to make sure no one keels over. But we have a lot of work to do before the big blizzard blows in tomorrow morning.”

This work turns out to be entirely intimidation tactics. We’ll comb through the streets in teams, frisking civilians and raiding random houses and buildings in search of weapons or other contraband. Once the blizzard passes, we’ll be installing machine gun nests and a series of other “deterrents” in the Square, which can’t be anything good. Meanwhile, the mines and school will be closed until further notice, handcuffing the economy. There are improvements underway at the dam in District 5, and when the power gradient will allow it to be electrified 24/7, we’ll fix the holes in the fence surrounding the district. Though my mind is swimming in all this new info, it never quite moves past that first ominous statement. The source.

Once Thread is finished with his to-do list from hell, Purnia steps in with new assignments and a bucket of radios. She pairs me with Darius, which I appreciate. She assigns us to the team patrolling the industrial district, which I don’t. Call me sentimental, but I’m not exactly thrilled by the prospect of being involved in a crackdown on the Hobsters, some of whom I consider my friends.

When we’re dismissed, Darius turns on his heel and all but bolts out the door. Ignoring the shoveled roadways, he cuts across the snow-covered grass with huge strides. I have to borderline run to keep up, an indignity all its own, but that’s not the only reason it pisses me off. “You’re in a hurry to go harass the Hobsters, now?”

Darius squints down at me, slowing only slightly. “It’s official. Purnia’s smarter than you.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, and his eye roll suggests this is obvious. “The pairings posted in the industrial district are all Hob regulars. She assigned us there so we can warn them, doofus.”

Though this revelation makes me feel a little better, it doesn’t do much for my overall sense of foreboding. “They’re not who I need to warn.”

Darius catches on, I can tell by the cheeky glint in his eye. “I thought you were done with her.”

Sighing, I shake my head. Might as well admit it. “I’ll never be done with Katniss Everdeen.”

“Well you can’t go running off now,” he points out. “Besides, isn’t she hunting with Gale for several more hours still?”

“No,” I grumble, “she’s waiting for me to meet her at the lake. She’s gonna think I wasn’t going to come, didn’t want to see her.”

Darius considers this a moment before concluding, “That might be for the best.” When I throw him a glare, he raises a hand in innocence but defends his logic. “I don’t see how you guys can keep it up with Thread in charge.”

“We’ll work something out,” I mutter, in an effort to convince myself as much as him. “This has never exactly been easy, Darius.”

When we arrive at the Hob, we find the building completely deserted. It’s eerily silent, the boards groaning under our feet as we tiptoe in. I’m not sure why we’re trying to be quiet. Maybe because it feels like something out of a horror story. This whole day does. “Hello?” I call. My voice echoes in the rafters and peaked roof, but I try once again, louder. “Hello?”

“Someone who saw them bagging Cray must have figured it out and warned them,” muses Darius. “Good.”

We both wander in a ways, taking in the remains of this place we have grown attached to. I peek into a few of the stalls, checking if people got out with their product. Greasy Sae’s stall is empty - after all, she doesn’t sell anything illegal. Ripper’s stash is still here, though. Biting my lip, I start to load my arms with bottles. “What are you doing?” asks Darius, his face morphing in disgust as he closes in on me. “Talk about opportunistic,” he sneers.

“I’m not stealing it,” I promise. “It’s Ripper’s livelihood. She can’t risk coming back here, but if someone spots us with it, we can say we confiscated it.”

“And, what?” scoffs Darius. “You’re gonna take it to her house? You’ll get her arrested if they find it.”

“I know, but maybe we can hide it somewhere for her.” My voice warbles, threatening to crack. Maybe it’s stupid, but I want - no, need - to do something about the injustice of it all. Injustice. That’s a funny word for it, given they’re technically criminals.

Darius’s face softens and he reaches in tentatively to start unburdening my arms. “Johanna. Leave it.” Sadly holding my gaze, he tells me, “We can’t fix this.”

Though he says this with bottles in his hands, I know he’s not just talking about Ripper’s stash. Or even the Hob. We can’t fix any of it.

***

I’ve made friends in this district. I’m no Darius, and I still have my moments, but I’ve come a long way from the angry, power-tripping former candidate I was when I arrived. People see me in the streets and smile, recalling a favor or a pleasant conversation.

But now I’m the enemy. When I try to make friendly eye contact while conducting a half-ass and largely fake raid on a house, the occupants look away. Passerby don’t acknowledge my apologies whilst patting them down, blaming new procedures. As the day rolls along, it proves to be more emotionally than physically exhausting. How Darius is still going after starting at six is beyond me.

The sun has nearly set when we get our first radio call in hours. The walkie-talkie we’re sharing has been going off all day, what with all the raids and so many bodies in the field, but we’ve rarely been addressed directly. “CO to Patrols 9, 16, 23, and 25,” Rawley’s voice crackles from my hip, making me pause in the middle of the dirt road. “Report to the Square for crowd control.”

Squinting at the radio in the shadows, I confirm the number 16 scrawled on a piece of masking tape on the base. Hesitantly lifting it to my lips, I ask, “Crowd control?” The last thing I want right now is to get in the middle of a riot.

“Punishment of a criminal,” answers Rawley. My gut slides down into my bowels as I exchange a look with my partner.

“Great, it’s started,” Darius mumbles bitterly as I hand him the radio. But we don’t delay. Today is not the day for insubordination.

We hear the crowd before we see it. There’s an ominous buzz in the air audible from the edge of town, but it’s not until we weave through the streets of shitty houses along the way that we spot the sea of bodies spilling into the gaps between the shops ringing the Square. My uniform and gun could probably get me through the crowd easily, but after everything that’s happened today, I’d rather use my manners. I’m about to approach and tap the first person on the shoulder when Darius says, “Jo, look.”

A few shops away, there’s three Peacekeepers standing outside the ring, embroiled in conversation. The helmets make it hard to recognize each other from a distance, but one of them is holding her signature clipboard. Drawn to Purnia as always, we’re not far off when the other two nod and start making their way through the crowd. Before she can follow them, Darius calls, “Hey, Purnia!”

Stiffening at the sound of his voice, Purnia spins around. Her eyes widen and she holds a hand up in a command for us to halt. “Wait,” she snaps. “What are you doing here?”

“We were called for backup,” I snark as we close the remaining distance. “What do you think?”

Shaking her head, Purnia positions herself between us and the crowd. “We have a big enough backup squad already,” she tells us. “We need more of us out in the streets.”

Darius blinks. “So, wait, you want us to go harass the locals?”

“No,” I observe with a suspicious squint. “She wants us to leave.” Purnia says nothing, but the guilt in her eyes as they flick my way makes my heart seize in my chest.

Oh, fuck.

Forgetting all about manners, I shove Purnia out of my way and barrel through the crowd. My partner’s panicked voice rings out behind me, begging me to stop, but I pay him no heed. He must have figured it out at the same time I did. Skidding to a stop on the icy cobblestones, I see two of the new imports securing someone’s wrists to a wooden post. They step back, confirming what I already knew. My stomach flips at the sight of Katniss topless and on her knees, braid tucked in front of her shoulder to expose her back.

“Johanna!” Darius calls out again as he bursts from the crowd, throwing his arms around me to hold me back. But I’m incapable of movement, paralyzed by shock.

Katniss hears him through the din and turns her head, locks eyes with me. After an initial flash of anger, they turn sad, maybe even apologetic. She hardens her expression and shakes her head. “Stay put,” she mouths.

“Those two caught her in the Seam with a dead turkey in her bag,” says Purnia, indicating the pair of Peacekeepers where they now stand talking to Thread. I only now notice the animal tacked to the post above Katniss’s head, the game bag and hunting jacket tossed to the side along with her shirt. For all the trouble she’s caused, I sometimes forget that her most humble and everyday crime is poaching. “You just missed her trial. Not that there was much she could say in her defense.”

My eyes go back to Thread as the two new Peacekeepers give him deferential nods and exit the Square. As they push their way out through the crowd, Thread pulls the whip from his belt and slowly begins to uncoil it. My dry mouth doesn’t want to cooperate, but I manage the words, “He can’t.”

Purnia’s hand locks around my arm. “If you intervene and they find out you two are involved, do you know what they’ll do to you?” I do. They’ll shoot me if I’m lucky. They’ll take my tongue if I’m not. But after all that’s happened today, I can’t stand idly by anymore. This is something I can fix. Something I have to fix.

“Hallett, Stark, let go of me,” I order them, straightening up into a confident posture. “I’m not going to do something stupid. I’m just going to talk to him.”

“That would be something stupid,” argues Darius, his fist tightening its grip on my jacket.

“I’m walking over to him now,” I declare, undeterred. “You guys want to hold me back, drag me away? You want to make a scene? Go ahead. I’m sure that will look good on all of us.”

Exchanging a look behind my back, the two of them hesitantly release me. “Careful,” Purnia warns me as I brush by her, taking large strides on my way to Thread.

“Excuse me? Commander?” The new Head looks up from shaking out his arm. Apparently he’s really getting into this. Nodding at the post, I question him, “You do know who that is, right?” His narrowing eyes tell me he interpreted that as sass, so I stand at attention. “Pardon me for saying, but I think this is a bad idea.”

With a dismissive shake of his head, Thread informs me, “Controlling Katniss Everdeen is one of my main objectives here, Agent. President Snow himself insisted I find a way to subdue her.” He chuckles to himself. “I didn’t expect her to give me such an easy way on day one.”

His flippant appraisal of the situation pisses me off, but I keep a calm demeanor. “Are you sure he didn’t mean subdue her with threats?”

Thread looks at me as though I am insane. He’s not exactly wrong. “She was caught with a poached animal in the middle of a busy street, with several witnesses. We can’t afford to give special treatment, or empty threats.”

Trying another angle, I remark, “I can’t imagine this will go over well in the Capitol.”

“This isn’t getting broadcast to the Capitol. They won’t see it.” He gestures around the Square. “These are the people we need to see it. If we let this slide, it sets a poor precedent.” It’s a solid argument, one I can’t counter without revealing my feelings about the crackdown. There’s no point, anyway. There’s no changing his mind. I stay silent, my throat swelling in despair. This is happening, and I can’t stop it. “This district needs to know the times are changing.”

“I still think this would be a mistake, sir,” I try as a last ditch effort, gulping subtly. 

“What you think doesn’t matter, Agent.” He points to his right with the whip, indicating the backup squad to the south. “Now fall in formation, unless you want an infraction on your record.”

“Agent!” barks Purnia on her way by, Darius on her heel. “Let’s go.”

Thread eyes me expectantly, a threat looming in his expression. I know that look. I know what he wants to hear. Giving him a curt nod, I reply, “Yes, sir.”

Though my body marches over to join the squad, I don’t feel like I’m in it. A fuzzy sensation blocks out the world around me and it feels like I’m floating on air. I vaguely register Darius and Purnia flanking me as I take my spot, no doubt afraid of what else I might try to pull. Like my trigger.

“Silence!” Thread’s booming voice jerks me back into the moment, quieting both the crowd and the buzzing in my ears. “For anyone who missed the trial, this girl was caught with illegal game within the district’s borders.” Eyes roaming the Square, he cocks his whip and proclaims, “Let this be a reminder to you all. The law is the law, no matter who you are.”

Katniss is quivering at the foot of the post, and I know it’s not just from the cold. Aside from the fear of pain, I’d bet it’s a fear of the unknown, too. She’s never been in this situation before. But I have. There’s no need for me to imagine her terror, kneeling and vulnerable before a man with a strong arm and something to prove. At least the worst I ever got was a belt.

The first blow draws a collective gasp from the crowd, but no sound to speak of from Katniss. Even as Thread continues, whip tearing at her raw skin, she refuses to release anything more than muffled grunts. She wants to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. I understand the impulse, but I know people like Thread. He won’t stop until she does. Maybe not until long after. I was right, the day I met her. She’s too proud for her own good.

Katniss turns her head a little to clamp down on her own bicep, keep her reactions suppressed. Thread doesn’t stand for this; his next lash strikes her high and grazes her face on the way to her shoulder. Her head snaps to the side in reaction, and that’s when she finally cries out. Out of shock more than anything, probably. But after that, it’s harder for her to keep quiet.

Thread knows what he’s doing. He takes his time between lashes, letting the sting die down and the skin tighten and inflame. It makes for more blood, more pain, and a better show. A show I’m forced to watch and pretend not to be affected by as my girlfriend’s flesh rips open and the subdued whimpers she’s trying to fight off devolve into wails of pain. I’m a decent actress, but bile is rising in my throat.

As the scent of blood grows thick in the air, I feel eyes burning into me. Turning my head, I catch Gale Hawthorne’s furious glare from the crowd. But I’m in no more of a position to intervene than he is. And I can’t stand it. This is the worst kind of torture for me – truly, I’d rather be Katniss right now. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me anymore. I’m dressed in Peacekeeper garb and have a gun strapped to my hip, yet I’ve never felt more powerless in my life. This is even worse than the Reaping, watching this spectacle unfold before my eyes.

Darius’s hand on my midback may be the only thing grounding me right now. It’s all I can do not to turn and bury my face in my tall companion’s chest, block this whole thing out. Thread must have lashed Katniss at least twenty times by now, though I’ve made a point of not counting. The less present I am, the better. But my efforts to dissociate are defeated when a scream cuts through all the muddled thoughts in my brain. My eyes focus fully on Katniss only seconds before she slumps forward, hanging from her wrists.

Purnia grips my arm as my balance falters in a moment of panic. “That’s a good thing,” she calmly informs me. “She can’t feel it if she’s passed out.”

“I’m not an idiot, Purnia,” I snap, tearing my arm loose. “Loss of consciousness is never a good thing during a grave injury.” Eyes on Katniss, I try to still the tremor in my hands. “Passing out in response to pain is your body’s way of easing you out of the world.” Thread strikes her again and I shake my head, eyes wide. “Why even keep going? Why can’t he just cut the poor kid loose?”

“Because she’ll feel it when she wakes up,” is my CO’s matter-of-fact reply. “And to make a point.” My jaw and fists clench, and Purnia’s eyes flash over to me. “She told you not to intervene.”

“I don’t think she would’ve if she’d known he was going to kill her!” I hiss.

“She’ll live,” says Purnia. “And even if she doesn’t, it’s still better than him killing both of you.”

Uncharacteristically silent up until now, Darius finally speaks. “I’ll go.”

My mouth falls open as I turn to him. “No. Darius-”

“Better me than you.”

“Darius.” My voice falters as I grip his sleeve, torn between holding him back for his own safety and releasing him because I need this to stop. Maybe if he intervened, he wouldn’t get in trouble as badly as I would. But that’s a big maybe. Another whistle and crack sounds, and the beaten body slumps lower. I let go.

Darius has just taken a couple of steps forward when a vaguely familiar voice calls out, “Hold it!” I don’t realize that it’s directed at Thread and not Darius until Haymitch Abernathy bursts from the crowd. Oh, thank god. Striding over to the post, he takes in the state of his mentee and turns on Thread. “Are you insane, or just suicidal? That’s the darling of the Capitol, you know.”

“She’s a confessed criminal,” growls Thread. “I don’t care who she is.”

“Then you’re extremely stupid,” retorts Haymitch. “She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist? Or the President, for that matter? He’s throwing the whole event.”

Though he only stands up taller, doubt creeps into Thread’s tone. “That’s not my problem.”

“Oh, well it’s about to be your problem, my friend. Over half of her dress designs are going to be out of the question now. Forget the president, the Capitol citizens will eat you for breakfast when they hear about this. Torturing their beloved victor. And over what? A turkey?”

“It’s not just a turkey,” asserts Thread, resting the whip on his hip. “It’s the law.”

Sensing an opportunity, Purnia takes this moment to intervene. Clearing her throat, she steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.”

Thread blinks, scanning the group. “Is that the standard protocol here?”

“Yes, sir,” she answers. Several others nod in agreement. None of us want to be here.

“Very well,” he says to Haymitch. “Get your Capitol darling out of here, then.”

As Thread wipes his hand along the length of the whip, splattering the snow with blood, Gale jumps forward with a knife in hand. For a split second I think he’s going to attack Thread, but he only goes for the ropes around Katniss’s wrists. “Better get her to her mother,” I hear Haymitch say to him as he cuts her loose. “Do you have help?”

I don’t get a chance to hear Gale’s answer, because while Thread coils up his whip he turns to us with new orders. “Clear the Square.”

“You heard the man!” barks Purnia, and the squad scatters in pairs. As I turn to follow Darius, she catches my arm and pulls me in tight. “Get out of here,” she hisses. “I’ll cover for you. Go!”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice. As soon as I’m out of Thread’s sight, I break into a dead sprint for the Victor’s Village, boots pounding on the pavement. Usually I avoid taking the road in, not wanting to announce I have any business there. But this is an emergency. Still, I go to the back door out of habit.

Spying the other Everdeens through the cracked kitchen window as I round the back of the house, I call their names before I even make it to the door. “Prim! Mrs. E.!” Stumbling up the steps, I throw open the door to a couple of very shocked blondes. “It’s Katniss!”

Mrs. Everdeen springs out of her seat. “Is she hurt?” My breathless nod prompts her to grab her coat from the back of her chair. “Where is she?”

“They’re bringing her to you,” I pant. At her quizzical look, I take a couple settling breaths and explain, “New Head Peacekeeper, just got in today. They caught Katniss with a turkey in the Seam and…” I can’t finish, but I can tell I don’t need to from the way the woman’s eyes are darkening.

“How bad?”

“Bad. I lost count.” Prim’s expression flickers with understanding, but it’s her mother’s that grabs my attention. Something so much worse than disappointment crosses her face as she pieces together that I was there. In uniform. And what that means. “I’m so sor-”

“Don’t apologize,” she interjects. “Help us.”

Desperate to be anything but useless, I nod eagerly. “What can I do?”

The next several minutes are a whirlwind of preparation. As I clear the table and cover it with a sterile cloth, the others get water boiling and grab a bunch of remedies from the medicine cabinet. Things to put in the water to help disinfect the wounds, I gather from their conversation. “She’ll need some kind of painkiller too,” I remind them as I peel off my gloves. “She was passed out last I saw her, but when she wakes up.”

Figuring we’ll need all the space we can get in the kitchen, I take the hallway to the study and strip off my armor there. After a moment’s hesitation, I remove the gun and holster from my belt as well, hide them under my breastplate. Tempers are sure to flare when Gale and Haymitch arrive, and I don’t want any firearms at hand.

As I reenter the kitchen, I catch the others in the middle of what appears to be an argument. “It’ll help with the inflammation,” insists Mrs. Everdeen.

“Mom-” Prim starts.

“Primrose,” she snaps. “My patient, my house, my supplies.”

“It’s Katniss’s house, actually,” I point out with just a dash of cheekiness. Both turn to glare at me and I shrug my shoulders up to my ears, shoving my hands in my hip pockets. “Just saying.”

Directing her hardened gaze back at Prim, her mother orders, “Brew the tea.”

As Mrs. Everdeen adds the final remedies to the disinfectant solution, we hear urgent voices outside the window. Moments later, the door bursts open and Gale shimmies in backwards, supporting one end of a board they must be using as a stretcher. “We need help!” he calls over his shoulder.

“We’re on it,” says Prim, nodding at the covered table as she pours a mug of tea from the pot.

Another Seam guy carries the second end, supporting Katniss’s head, and a third one trails behind him. Seeing no sign of Haymitch, I walk around to the other side of the table to help transfer her over. My cheeks pale at my first glimpse of Katniss, covered in blood and writhing on the board. The sight of her suffering makes my throat ache and swell. Though her regaining consciousness is a good sign, I doubt it’s something she’s grateful for. “How long has she been awake?”

Gale just about drops his end at the sound of my voice, head whipping around. His eyes are full of fire, but he doesn’t say a word. “Not long,” replies the guy bringing up the rear as he joins me on the far side of the table. Eyeing up my uniform curiously, he adds, “A couple minutes. She’s still not all there.” Her dazed whimpers turn to a sharp cry as we transfer her over, though, barely quieting to a series of moans once the board has been slid out from under her. Shit.

Prim hurries to her sister, carrying the mug. Plopping a straw in, she bends down and instructs her, “Katniss, drink this.” When Katniss doesn’t respond, too busy moaning and squirming, she grabs a fistful of her hair and looks her dead in the eye. “If you want to feel better, drink this.” Katniss manages obedient little sips between whimpers, but it’s understandably slow going. She can’t stay still or shut up. “Good girl, drink it all,” Prim encourages her, masking the helpless expression on her face as she looks up.

Still refusing to acknowledge me, Gale nods my way and asks Prim, “What is _she_ doing here?”

“Helping,” states Mrs. Everdeen as she steps up with the basin, her firm tone ending that argument before it can start. Setting the basin down, she wrings out a steaming cloth and lets it cool a moment, then uses it to start soaking up the blood. Katniss makes an awful sound at first contact, forcing my eyes away as she recoils at her mother’s touch. Prim gives up on the tea, setting it on the counter harder than necessary.

The front door opens and closes behind me, and seconds later Haymitch appears with Peeta in tow, carrying Katniss’s clothes and bag. “New Head Peacekeeper,” he explains. “Not entirely peaceful.” One of his eyebrows lifts at the sight of me, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he knows who I am to Katniss, but we’ve never talked much. I’ve seen more of him at the Hob than in the Village. He gives the guys I don’t know some money and sends them off quietly.

Returning my eyes to Katniss, I pick up on a tremor in her leg beside me. That’s when my training kicks in and I remember to check skin condition. Sliding my hand up her pant leg to find skin that should be warm, I press the back of my hand to her calf. It’s cool and damp. Fuck. “Get a blanket!” I throw into the room. “She’s in shock!”

As Peeta nods and disappears into the living room, I start the process of stripping off Katniss’s water and blood-soaked boots, socks, and pants. Prim steps in to help, and when Peeta returns we wrap the blanket around her legs, tuck it under her feet. It’s hard when she’s still writhing around, but we get it wrapped loosely, anyway. “We’ve got to preserve as much of her body heat as possible,” I explain to anyone who cares.

Finally registering my voice, Katniss lifts a hand in an attempt to reach me. “Hanna,” she manages between various horrible sounds of agony.

“Hey,” I answer, stepping to the end of the table. Tears springing to my eyes, I take her right hand in mine. “I’m here, baby.”

There’s a beat of relative silence, broken by the scuff of Gale’s boot as he stops pacing. “Don’t call her that,” he seethes. His eyes bore into mine as I blink up. “You are the worst girlfriend ever.”

“Gale,” I snap, shooting him a warning look. “Now is not the time.”

“It’s exactly the time!” he shouts over Katniss’s ceaseless string of moans and curses. “This is your fault, Agent. She was out there to meet you, you know.”

The pain of that truth is what makes my mouth fall open, but I play it off as disbelief. “ _My_ fault? I know about her little arrangement with your mom. She was caught in the Seam with fresh game, when there’s a hole in the fence not far from here.” Tilting my head, I go in for the kill. “Who do you think that turkey was for, Gale? Where do you suppose she could have possibly been taking it?”

My volume swelled involuntarily in that last sentence, and Gale’s rises to meet it. “You’re such a fucking coward. You had a gun, you’re a Peacekeeper, you could have done something!”

Clenching both fists, I spit, “What could I have done, Gale? You were standing right there too, and I didn’t see you stepping in. If you had, you probably would have just gotten flogged along with her. Whoop dee doo. But if I had… do you have any idea what they do to traitors in the Capitol? It wouldn’t have helped any of us.” Taking a long, deep breath to calm myself, I conclude, “Reason is the only thing that might have worked with him, and it didn’t. Not from me.”

“Hanna,” Katniss groans louder and more insistently this time, tugging on my hand.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” I tell her, kneeling on the floor so she can see me from where her right cheekbone rests on the edge of the table. “I’m here.” The color returns to her fingers as I relax my grip post-rant, but hers remains tight. Cupping the back of her head, I press our foreheads together. Her eyes squeeze shut, forcing out tears that drip down and join mine in a cascade down my cheeks.

While her mother continues to clean her wounds, Katniss pants and moans through gritted teeth, nails of her left hand clawing at my shoulder. Blinking down to her other hand where it’s clasped with mine, I finally notice the raw rope burns on her wrist. Worse, the splinters under her fingernails from digging them into the post.

“She needs something stronger,” I direct to Mrs. Everdeen, but she’s in the zone and doesn’t seem to hear me. “Paula!” I snap. Her eyes flick over and I demand, “Get her something for the pain.”

“I already did,” she replies steadily. “That’s what the tea was for.”

“Bullshit. How many times have I seen you do inventory? I know you have actual pills.”

“Mom, she’s right,” Prim chimes in. “I told you. We need something stronger.”

“No,” she calmly refuses. “Like I said, we need to save those for the people who really need them.”

“Who needs them more than her?” Gale protests, finally in agreement with me over something.

“Mom,” Katniss whimpers pitifully, fingers still locking mine in an iron grip. Her face contorts as she tries to fight off the pain. “Mommy, please.”

The blood drains from my head at those words, at this display of helpless suffering. But while her daughter’s plea sparks a flash of pain in Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes, still she shakes her head. Anger swells in my chest and behind my eyes as I’m struck by a vision of an emaciated eleven year-old Katniss shaking this woman’s arm and begging her with those very same words. In vain.

Before I know it, I’m on my feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I’m all but screeching, shaking with rage as I close in on her. “That’s your own flesh and blood, for fuck’s sake!”

Peeta steps in front of me before I can reach Mrs. Everdeen, who to her credit remains wholly unfazed. Barely looking up from her work, she gives the order, “Get her out of here.”

“Gladly,” growls Gale, and two seconds later I’m wrenched backward by the collar of my jacket. He and Peeta each grab an arm, but I’m as stubborn as I am strong, my boots scraping the floor as they struggle to move me. Finally they resort to exploiting their size advantage and literally pick me up.

Thrashing as they wrangle me to the door, I scream over their shoulders at the infuriatingly impassive healer. “She was right, you’re a terrible mother! How can you just stand by and watch your child suffer? Again?” Peeta somehow gets the door open in the midst of the scuffle. Just before they thrust me outside, I shout, “Fuck you, you heartless fucking cunt!”

It’s not an exaggeration to say Gale throws me off the back stoop. The air is jolted from my lungs as I land hard on my back in the snow at the foot of the steps, and I can form no more words before he slams the door. The coughs I make in an attempt to regain my breath turn into sobs, a new bout of tears welling up in my eyes. Swiping them away, I give voice to my anguish once more by screaming into the vast night sky.

It’s not enough. A tree in their backyard becomes the latest victim of my rampage. Without an axe at my disposal, I strike it with my fists over and over, a never-ending stream of curses spewing from my lips. The physical pain is a fortunate consequence of my bare-handed attack on the bark. Anything to detract from my inner torment.

When my knuckles and throat are raw, my muscles aching and weary, I collapse back against the tree and slide down onto my butt. Burying my face in my bloody hands, I return to crying. My burning throat will hardly produce a sound, but my body shakes and tears pool in my palms.

When I eventually cry myself out, I stay seated in the snow, too exhausted to move. While my mind remains blessedly numb, over time the biting cold air starts to burn my ears. Meanwhile, the throbbing in my fingers intensifies until it matches that in my temples.

Suddenly the door opens, and I brace myself to face an angry Gale come to drive me from the property. But when I look to my left, I see it’s Mrs. Everdeen crossing the yard. A rush of guilt and dread freezes me in place and makes my stomach drop. She doesn’t appear angry, though. In fact, she’s carrying bandages and ointment that must be for me. That only makes me feel worse.

“I meant get you out of the room, not the house,” she tells me when she reaches the tree. “Gale was a little overzealous.”

Still overcome by shame, it takes me a couple seconds to respond. “I’m sorry,” I force out. “I didn’t mean those things.”

Mrs. Everdeen squats beside me with a sigh. “You did. But I’ve been called worse. No one can stand to see their loved ones in pain, including me. I’ve just developed the thick skin to work through it.” Glancing down at my lap, she observes, “You, on the other hand…”

Following her gaze, I finally take in the state of my hands. The knuckles are a mess of torn flesh, bits of bark, and coagulated blood. My white pants now sport red smears where my hands were resting. Further inspecting my uniform, I find blood has dribbled down my forearms, staining the cuffs of my shirt and jacket. If I had any emotional capacity remaining, I would be embarrassed for my outburst. But somehow, I think she understands.

Setting the bandages and ointment aside for the moment, Mrs. Everdeen gently takes my left hand and starts to clean it. As she picks the last flecks of bark out of my wounds, she asks, “What did that tree ever do to you?” This attempt at humor allows me a small smile but also brings on another round of sobs. Once she’s bandaged the hand, she stops her work long enough to shuffle closer and wrap her arms around my shoulders. I lean into the embrace, too weak to refuse, but it doesn’t last long. She has a second set of knuckles to treat.

When she’s finished with my right hand, Mrs. Everdeen gives the unmarred palm a squeeze and turns my chin to force eye contact. Hers are kind but serious, strictly prohibiting any more nonsense. “Are you going to stay calm now?” I nod, and she stands and helps me to my feet. “She’s asking for you.”

Inside, I find Katniss bandaged up but otherwise much the way I left her, writhing and moaning on the table. Whimpering my name, despite the presence of her best friend and fiancé on either side of her. Resisting the urge to throw a gloating look Gale’s way, I crouch down in her line of sight and brush some strands of hair from her clammy forehead. “I’m sorry, baby,” I croak, voice still hoarse from all the screaming. “I’m back.”

Though her face hardly relaxes in her current state, Katniss’s relief is audible in her sigh and her voice. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” I assure her resolutely, stroking her hair. “I promise.”

Her brow creases as she blinks the focus back into her eyes. “What happened to your face?”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding,” she tells me, squinting in what appears to be genuine concern. Right, I was crying into my bloody palms. My face, like my hands, must be an unholy mess of tears, mucus, and blood. 

“Look who’s talking,” I tease. That culls a snort from Katniss, one that immediately makes her wince. So much for humor as a distraction. “It’s from my hands,” I explain, lifting them to flank my face and show off the bloody strips of cloth wrapping my knuckles.

Though the movement clearly pains her, Katniss reaches out to take one of my hands. Skimming her thumb across the bloodied bandage covering the back of my fingers, she makes a sound of exasperation. “Fuck, Johanna.” For some reason, this makes me laugh. Ignoring my reaction, she draws my hand in to lay a kiss on my knuckles. I wasn’t expecting this, but if focusing on my injuries makes it easier for her, who am I to argue?

Mrs. Everdeen offers me a chair, but I refuse it, staying in a squat so Katniss can see my face. I reach up to the table to find her other hand, which gives mine a strong squeeze. That bodes well. If she dies, it will be from infection, not blood loss. Peeking over her head, I catch Gale glaring at me from the corner he’s retreated to, but he doesn’t say anything. He must have received a stern warning too.

The sound of the doorbell makes my head snap up. Uneasy glances fly across the table as the already palpable tension in the room thickens. We all know who it must be. “Peacekeepers,” voices Haymitch. He looks my way. “You should run.”

“No,” I refuse, squeezing Katniss’s hand where it still rests by her lips. “I promised.”

Katniss groans, pulling my gaze back down. Her earnest gray eyes shine with fresh tears, but are determined as ever. “Hanna, they’ll take you. Go.”

Even now, she’s trying to protect me at her own expense. Shame doesn’t even begin to cover what I feel. I was an idiot, thinking her selfish when she was trying to save me the entire time. No, I’m the selfish one. The one who fled at the first test of loyalty.

In answer, I only grip her hands tighter, shaking my head. I’m not letting go this time. Let them pry her from my cold, dead hands. “If they take you, they take me too.”

As her mother goes to answer the incessant ringing of the bell, I keep my eyes on Katniss. Her face shows disappointment, yes, but also relief. She actually thought I would leave her. I can’t really blame her. Perhaps my last chance ever to do so, I press my lips to her forehead to comfort her. She smells like a hard day in the woods, sweat and dirt tinged with pine. And blood.

The door slams, and my eyes flash up to catch sight of whoever’s bootsteps are echoing down the hallway. My mouth drops open when Madge Undersee of all people enters the kitchen carrying a small, soggy cardboard box. She bristles at the sight of me, narrowing her eyes in unmasked contempt. “You’ve got guts, showing up here.”

Tossing Gale some side-eye, I remark, “At least someone thinks I’m brave.”

Mrs. Everdeen is on Madge’s heels, taking the box and striding to her supply cabinet immediately. My heart soars with hope when she digs out a syringe and pokes it into a vial she’s plucked from the box. “Is that morphling?” I ask her. She nods silently as she fills the syringe, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Hearing Madge approach on my left, I turn to her with a look of sincere gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Just being a good friend,” she mutters sullenly, avoiding my gaze and resting a hand on Katniss’s bicep.

My eyes flutter as I absorb her words and demeanor. “You too?” I ask quietly. Madge glances at me involuntarily before averting her eyes again. Chuckling to myself, I shake my head. “I don’t know how she does it.”

“This isn’t a joke,” asserts Madge, eyes flashing. “You broke her heart.” Her words make me swallow with guilt. Seems all I do is cause Katniss pain. Mrs. Everdeen’s approach is a convenient excuse to look away. Katniss grunts and clenches her fists, strangling my fingers as her mother sticks the needle in her neck. But as the syringe slowly empties, her shoulders and face start to relax. “She’s been over more often since you left,” says Madge. Though she’s speaking to me, she’s watching Katniss when I look up from my crouch. “Needed a shoulder to cry on.”

“Which you were no doubt happy to provide,” I parry.

Madge’s eyes narrow, full of judgment. “I was really starting to think I was wrong about you.”

“Okay, I get it,” I concede, rolling my eyes. “Everyone here hates me.”

“I don’t,” Katniss mumbles blearily, fading away. I might have missed her words entirely were her lips not so close to my ear. I press a kiss to the back of her hand as its grip weakens.

With Katniss finally unconscious again, everyone else can relax too. Judging by the way they slump and sigh, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one feeling exhausted now that I can let my guard down for a minute. Sort of. I’m still very much in hostile territory, despite the fact that this was my home for three months. Prim finally doles out the stew that’s been simmering on the stove this whole time and passes around some bread. We eat a quiet meal, holding our bowls seeing as the table is rather occupied.

When the dishes are done, Mrs. Everdeen starts to clear everyone out. Haymitch and Peeta are both hesitant to leave, but she assures them there’s nothing more they can do. They live close by, anyway, in the event that they are needed. Madge and Gale are a different story. Though there’s no official curfew, they run the risk of being harassed by Peacekeepers if they are caught out after dark.

As they debate whether to stay or not, I inform them of the coming storm Thread warned us about. “Better get going or you could get stuck here for days.”

“And what about you, Agent?” asks Gale.

Pulling a chair up to the head of the table, I look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere.” Assuming he won’t approve, as I settle in front of Katniss I add a snarky, “Sorry.”

“It’s a good thing,” he replies neutrally. I’m starting to think maybe he regrets his actions and intends to re-bury the hatchet until he tacks on, “An improvement.” His stony face echoes the sentiment of his words. He doesn’t trust me with her. Whatever tenuous alliance we had fallen into has clearly been broken now.

Prim is the last one left in the kitchen with us. Busying herself tidying up, she doesn’t even look at me. And from the extra force she’s using on the doors and drawers as she puts things away, I know it’s not just because she’s physically and socially exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Prim,” I say to her back. She pauses her movements. “I was a real dick last week.”

Prim turns, folding her arms. “I can handle you being a condescending jerk,” she informs me. “I’m tougher than you think. I’m more angry that you hurt Katniss.”

“I know,” I mumble, eyes flicking back to the wounded girl on the table. I’ve seen her in enough pain for a lifetime. Knowing I’ve caused her any makes a lump rise in my throat, another wave of shame crashing over me. “I don’t ever wanna do that again.”

Sighing, Prim puts away one last dish and comes closer. “We all hurt the people we love, from time to time,” she consoles me. It strikes me as wise beyond her years, and I look up in surprise. But her eyes are on Katniss. “She hurt you too.”

“You were right, though. I should have stayed, waited to talk to her.” Prim now meets my gaze, but I have to avert my eyes as I confess, “But I wanted to hurt her back. I wanted her to feel the way I felt when I saw her say yes.”

“I know,” Prim says, then she disappears into the hall. A moment later, she returns with a blanket. Smartly deciding not to toss it to me over her injured sister, she comes around the table and places it on my lap. “Get some rest, Hanna.”

Her use of my familial nickname provides a shred of comfort and hope. Hope that she is getting over my betrayal and we can feel like family again, sooner rather than later. I know we will eventually. Prim’s possibly the most forgiving person I know. Grateful for her hospitality, I shrug off my constricting jacket and wrap the blanket around my shoulders.

Her advice about getting rest falls by the wayside, however. Several hours later, sometime after midnight, I’m still wide awake. How could I possibly sleep? Between my righteous shame for intentionally breaking Katniss’s heart and my complicity in her physical torture, my brain denies me any reprieve. Maybe it was the right decision not to physically intervene during the whipping, but it’s a decision I know will haunt me for the rest of my life. Her helpless wails echo in my ears as I run my fingers through her hair, gently squeezing her left hand where it rests in my right. If I could take all her pain on myself, I would.

Katniss stirs under my touch, though her eyes remain closed. It’s not until she smiles faintly that I realize she’s come to. “Hanna.”

“Hi,” I force through my tight throat. Swallowing hard, I blink the tears from my eyes and lean forward to place a kiss on her hairline. “You doing okay?”

Katniss hums to herself, mulling this over. Peeking an eye open, she cracks, “It’s not the most fun I’ve ever had on this table.” My surprised laugh brings a genuine smile to her lips. Trailing her thumb over my wrist, she teases, “You know, everyone else is asleep…”

“Yeah, the last thing you need is to get your blood pumping,” I decline, though I doubt she’s being serious. “You’ll bleed out.”

“At least I’ll die happy,” she mumbles, eye falling shut again. She shifts, no doubt stiff from lying on a table in the same position for hours. New blood seeps into the bandage, but she’s feeling no pain. Settling down again, she sighs with relief. Just when I’m thinking she’s drifted off again, she says, “You never got to hear my brilliant plan.”

Clutching her hand urgently, I lean in and tell her, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I didn’t stand you up. I was pressed into service.”

“I figured that out.” Swiping the air blindly, she finds my face and tugs behind my jawbone, urging me closer. “C’mere.” Once her lips are pressed against my ear, she whispers, “We need to run away.”

My eyebrows peak. So that’s the plan. It’s not like I’ve never fantasized about it before. It was hard not to on those days at the lake, when there were no appearances to keep up and we could just be ourselves. Even the odd time before she was reaped, I imagined a life where we weren't star-crossed lovers. But I knew she would never go for it. She couldn’t leave her family behind. Even now, I’m sure she’s included them in her escape plan.

But can we do it? It’ll be a rough go, running off into the wilderness with no safe destination. And Katniss is high-profile, so we’re sure to be pursued the second she’s discovered missing. Perhaps the more important question, though, is can we afford not to? The threat of death hanging over me aside, Darius was right about me and Katniss. This current situation is unsustainable, especially now with Thread running things. This just might have to be the solution we work out. How else could we stay together?

Not wanting to give away the content of our conversation to any listening ears, I decide to stick with the theme we had going before. Giving her an aroused chuckle, I ruffle her hair and purr, “Yeah, I wanna do that too.” Making the effort to open her eyes, Katniss peers at me in confusion, apparently too out of it to grasp my intentions. So I rephrase. “I agree. That’s an excellent idea.”

“It’s gotta be soon. I told you-”

“Shhh,” I whisper, putting a finger to her lips. She’s right, but now’s not the time to tell her that fixing the fence is on Thread’s agenda. No need to add to her stress while she’s convalescing. “We’ll talk about this when you’re feeling better, okay?”

“I feel great,” she drawls, staring at me. Her lips creep up into a loopy grin. “You’re pretty.” Snickering under my breath, I graze my thumb over the back of her hand. Oh, the stories I’ll have for her when she’s sober. Sliding her other hand down my neck and into my cleavage, Katniss fishes out my dog tags and closes her fist around them. “Kiss me,” she murmurs, reeling me in by the chain.

Our kisses are intimate but sluggish, hampered by her uncoordinated lips and tongue. Losing steam quickly, she slumps and lets her forehead rest against mine. “I love you so much,” she breathes. Her eyelids flutter but fail to open entirely.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Having little choice in the matter, Katniss goes under again within moments. Her arm pulls on the chain around my neck as it droops, but as her grip loosens I’m able to work it out of her fist. Laying her arm gently on the table, I examine the tags now dangling out in the open.

Agt. Johanna T. Mason  
Infantry//Outpost 1201  
Meredith, District 2  
John + Jocelyn Mason

Running my thumb over the engraved names of my next of kin, I can’t help reflecting on what they would think of me and Katniss. My mom never seemed very interested in politics, preferring to keep her head down and work hard. She probably paid little attention to the ramifications of Katniss’s actions and wouldn’t care, aside from her poorly hidden bias toward me ending up with a man. But my father’s always been a staunch Capitol loyalist. Being from a family of Peacekeepers will do that to you, that and pass on a penchant for brutality. He’d beat the hell out of me if he knew.

But what for? I haven’t actually done anything to betray the Capitol. And truth be told, I’m ashamed of it. I could fool myself before, follow Darius’s advice and try to make people judge me for myself, not my uniform. But after today’s events, I can no longer deny it. I’m one of the bad guys.

The metal edges of the tags dig into my palm as my eyes roam over the blood-soaked bandages on my girlfriend’s back. Ripping the chain from my neck, I pitch them toward the living room. They skitter across the floor, skipping off the edge of the rug before landing somewhere silently. The mug was much more satisfying.

Even with everything going on in my head, I do eventually pass out. But it’s mere hours before my internal alarm clock wakes me again. Squinting at the wall clock through bleary eyes, I see it’s almost a quarter after five already. I need to leave soon if I want a chance to eat before shift. Sure, I said I wouldn’t leave Katniss’s side, but now that my brain has rested a bit I realize that I can’t run away with her later if I get arrested for skipping work now.

Settling for being true to my word about being there when she wakes, I shake Katniss’s shoulder after suiting back up. Her eyes flutter open and I crouch down into her sightline. “Hey. I have to go to work.”

Katniss shakes her head, getting a loose grip on my wrist. “Stay,” she pouts.

Thumb brushing over her cheek, I smile sadly. “I can’t. It’s not Purnia and Cray in charge anymore. My new boss, he’s not messing around.”

“I noticed,” she deadpans. Wincing, she adds, “Can you give me another shot?”

“Yeah, sure,” I agree without hesitation. Mrs. Everdeen was sure right about me lacking a thick skin. After leaving a note by the box telling her what time I administered the last shot, I draw a second dose from the first of five vials. “Hold still,” I warn Katniss. She grimaces when I insert the needle, but doesn’t complain. Within a moment, she sighs in relief.

Her eyelids are drooping when I return from storing the drugs. Kneeling at the end of the table, I give her hand a parting squeeze. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” Katniss doesn’t reply, but her mouth twitch indicates she heard me. Smiling in return, I leave a soft peck on her lips. “I love you.”

***

The barracks has never felt like a longer walk from home. Dread weights down my boots as I trudge through the fresh powder to face my second day of working for Thread. All I can do is hope that blizzard shows up soon and keeps us off the streets.

As I approach, I notice a pair of Peacekeepers posted outside the M wing door. What for? It’s not like any locals would come anywhere near this place after yesterday. The way they’re staring at me unnerves me until I remember all the blood on my uniform. My bandaged hands are out in the open too. I didn’t even bother trying to fit my swollen knuckles into the tight leather gloves.

“Agent Mason?” one of them inquires. They’re both new; their heavy tactical armor would have given them away even if their unfamiliarity with me didn’t.

I cock an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Proof,” he counters brusquely. Bristling at his tone, I wave my keycard in his face. He is not amused. Eyes flashing to my neck, he presses, “Where are your ID tags?”

In Katniss’s living room. Shit. “Uh… I must have dropped them somewhere?”

His partner huffs. “They weren’t kidding about this place.”

“She’ll need new ones, anyway.” Putting the radio to his lips, the first guy says, “Captain Stark, we found your straggler. Mason’s accounted for.” It’s a little early for Purnia to be counting heads, but okay. She doesn’t answer, anyway. Stepping aside, he gestures at the door. “Inside, Agent.”

The noise is the first thing I notice. As soon as the door cracks open, a clamor of footsteps and voices reaches my ears. Stepping inside curiously, I find a swarm of new Peacekeepers milling about the hallways. Oh right, the reinforcements. They probably called an early briefing and idiotic little me wasn’t even in the barracks. With Thread in charge, that will no doubt mean trouble for me.

Hustling toward the common area, I don’t notice my open bedroom door until I’m halfway past it. Hand snapping out to nab the doorframe, I halt my momentum and pull myself back. It’s Darius who has infiltrated my quarters, apparently raiding the place. The contents of my dresser drawers have been dumped on the bed and he’s currently crouched by the bookshelf, pulling everything onto the floor. “What the fuck?”

Darius looks up with a sigh that rides the line between exasperation and relief. “Jo, where the hell have you been? You only have ten minutes left to pack up.”

“What, are we changing room assignments? Bastards are taking all the window rooms?” I take another look at the sheer number of them. “Making us double up?” Something inside of me grasps what’s happening, but my brain refuses to comprehend.

Standing slowly, Darius eases himself closer. “Jo.”

“Shouldn’t the reinforcements be the ones crammed in like sardines?” I protest.

“Johanna.” Though his eyes remain soft, his tone demands I acknowledge the truth. That’s something I cannot do. “They’re not our reinforcements. They’re our replacements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D7P is the Johanna expert and had a huge hand in making this chapter as good as it is by helping me keep Johanna in character and offering insights into Thread's motivations. Thank you. Your help, as always, is invaluable.


	23. Limbo

This final train ride out of Twelve is infinitely more miserable than my first ride in. Just when I was starting to rebuild my life, it’s all been torn from me again. And it hurts even worse this time.

Once I grab a sleeping cabin, I lock the door and don’t come out for anyone or anything. Though I was up much of the night, hungry is the last thing I am. When Darius knocks and pleads with me to open the door, obviously concerned, I wrap the pillow around my head. I don’t want comfort. I want to be miserable. Besides, there’s no use getting attached to him again. What are the chances we’ll be reassigned together? The odds aren’t in our favor.

He probably saved my life, I owe him that much. My first instinct upon hearing the news of our impending transfer was to jump out the window and make a break for the hole in the fence, but he grabbed my wrist and told me I’d never make it with the Peacekeepers posted at the north doors. They’d spot me easily and probably shoot me on sight for trying to desert. As much as I wanted to deny it, I couldn’t. There was nothing I could do but get on this train.

When Darius knocks on my door for the third time, midway through the afternoon, I hurl a string of curses his way. To make sure he gets the point, and also because I suspect he’s afraid I’ve harmed myself. Yelling is a way to let him know I’m alive and… well, alive. To comfort him without having to be nice. After that he doesn’t return for the rest of the day, leaving me to stew in my misery in this cabin. It smells like a boy, musky and dank, but it isn’t bothersome enough to make me get out of bed and open the tiny window. Besides, it’s a fucking blizzard out there.

Darius checks on me twice the next day, and twice I yell at him to go the fuck away. He doesn’t ask to come in, so my instincts must have been right. I’d be lying if I said the thought hasn’t occurred to me. It’s not like I’m short on bedsheets. But I am the consummate survivor. My pride comes from succumbing to nothing and no one.

As the afternoon light fades into evening, there’s a third knock on my door. I’m mustering the energy to yell at him again when another voice sounds from the hallway. “Mason, open up,” calls Purnia. And I don’t yell at her to go away. Because if there’s anyone I could tolerate seeing right now, it’s her. “Come on, Johanna, you need to eat,” she insists when I don’t answer. “I will open this door myself if I have to.” Her voice fills me with a yearning of sorts. Maybe I do want to be comforted. She curses faintly at my continued silence, then I hear a key jiggling in the lock. Even if I had the energy to move and wipe my tear-stained eyes, I lack the dignity to give a shit right now.

When the door slides open I find the energy to lift a hand after all, because the light from the hallway is so overwhelming after a day and a half in the dark. Hearing it slide back on its tracks and click shut, I drop my shielding hand. The sparse remaining daylight filtering in through the curtains illuminates Purnia’s face just enough for me to see the disappointment written all over it. And a tinge of something else that I want to say is sadness. Before I can be sure, she blinks away the expression and places the plate she’s holding on the nightstand. “Sit up, Mason.”

“Leave me alone,” I mumble into my pillow, eyes slipping shut again. The words are as faint as I feel. She’s right that I need food, but my stomach is even more troubled than yesterday.

Hardly the type to take no for an answer, Purnia flicks on the lamp and pulls me into a sitting position. I’m weak from hunger and sadness and don’t try to resist, but I do stay limp to make it difficult for her. The room is cold, and she strips the blanket from the bed to wrap around my shoulders. Circling her right arm around my waist to hold me upright, she wedges herself between me and the pillow. Grabbing the plate from the nightstand, she rests it on her lap and grabs a piece of fruit from it with her free hand.

With the chunk of what smells like pear at my lips, I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. Purnia pinches my side insistently and orders me, “Mason, open your goddamn mouth. You’re usually so good at that.” Lacking the energy to roll my eyes, I obey without any sass. That’s got to be a first.

As we inch our way through the meal she’s brought, I’m struck by the thought and effort she’s put into it. She’s cubed canned fruit and meat from our ration stash and ripped open some of the packages of cheese and crackers, putting together a plate of finger food. Likely she guessed she would have to resort to feeding me by hand. The beginnings of a smile twitch my lips as I reflect on our current situation. It would be sexy in better circumstances.

Swallowing my first bite of meat, I ask her, “Why are you bothering with me?”

“Because I’m your friend, obviously.” After a moment’s hesitation, she adds, “And I feel for you. Being separated from your lover sucks.”

“You chose to leave yours,” I point out.

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to,” she fires back. “And stop being such a brat. Don’t bite the hand th-” Pausing partway through the phrase, she snickers.

Even in my state, I produce a genuine chuckle. “I always thought you were literal, Purnia, but that’s impressive.”

“Shush, you.”

Just the touch of another person is restorative. Her fingers brushing my lips and squeezing my side do as much for me as the food she’s forcing into me. Though I feel a bit stronger as she puts the empty plate aside, I go mostly limp again and let my head fall to the side, resting on her shoulder. Her hand moves from my waist to scratch my scalp softly, and she drops a kiss onto my hairline. Instinctively I squeeze her knee in return.

That’s not the only instinct I feel. Purnia has always been a mystery to me, even more enigmatic than Katniss. But with most people, a moment like this does not end here. And as she places her left hand atop mine and threads our fingers together, I realize I don’t want it to. The heartbeat in my ears drowns out my doubts about how she sees me, a reckless longing overriding any sense of reason. I have never felt more desperate for something good.

Lifting my head, I catch her eyes for a moment. Strikingly green, even in the soft light of the cabin. They’re so gorgeous, as I lean in I resist the way my own eyes want to flutter shut for as long as I can before our lips make contact. It’s a relief as much as a surprise when I feel her kissing me back, softly pursing her lips against mine. Emboldened, I open my eyes again and lift my right hand to cup her cheek, intending to deepen the kiss. But as my fingers trail down her jawbone, she slowly draws back. I see the refusal in her eyes before she voices it with her lips. “Mason,” she says gently.

Blinking myself out of it, I tell her, “I know.”

“That’s not what we have.”

“I know.” Pulling away, I rest my elbows on my knees as I try to will away the fire burning in my cheeks. “Sorry. You can go.”

“I never said I wanted to leave,” she replies, almost quizzically. And she doesn’t, only sits there watching me. I start to shiver again under her gaze, but she must blame the cold because she begins rubbing my arms through the blanket still shrouding me. When that only makes me shudder more, she pauses a moment in thought before tugging it from around my shoulders. Draping it back over the sheets, she draws back the covers, kicks off her boots and wriggles inside. Backing up toward the wall, she pats the space in front of her and urges me, “Come on.”

I blink. “Really?”

Her mouth quirks slightly. “As long as you don’t try to molest me.”

Though I know this is a joke, I’m hardly in the mood to laugh at anything right now. Especially not a joke at my expense. “I wouldn’t,” I state, eyes narrowing peevishly. “Consent is important to me.”

“I remember.” She invites me in again with steady but gentle eyes, and I give in. Switching off the lamp, I burrow under the covers and into the arms of my CO. She’s not the person I’d give the world to be held by right now. But she’s a comforting presence and a kind soul. Emotion swells inside of me as her hands sweep up and down my back, but I’m too exhausted to cry. I’ve barely slept in two nights, and the pressure and warmth of another body touching mine starts lulling me into oblivion almost immediately.

“Sleep,” she whispers, kissing my forehead once more. “Give that poor brain a rest.”

There’s not much I can do to resist. Yawning into her chest, as my eyelids droop I mumble a bleary, “Thank you.”

How long she stays is a mystery, because I wake up alone the next morning. A racket in the hall is what pulls me into consciousness, and as I get my bearings I realize we aren’t moving. Listening closer, I hear rustling in the adjacent cabins as people pack their things. Awesome.

I’m barely out of bed when Darius knocks on the door. “Jo? You awake?”

“Unfortunately,” I call through the door.

“We’re here. They want us in full gear and ready to march in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” I shout back.

It doesn’t take me ten minutes. My bags have sat untouched on the floor for over 48 hours, so I have nothing to pack. After suiting up, I grab my luggage and head for the eating area. Most of the morning crew is already there, with a few notable exceptions. They are chatting amongst themselves in low tones as I approach Athena and Tory. “Hey, Thena,” I greet my former neighbor, cutting her off mid-sentence with a casual kick to the boot. “Where’s Purnia? I need to ap- I need to ask her something.”

“No clue,” she answers, giving me a mildly annoyed squint. “They took all the officers.”

My eyes pop. “What do you mean, ‘took’?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “But it can’t be anything good.”

I’m hardly able to process the next several minutes, head spinning as new Peacekeepers take our bags and corral us onto the platform. The last time one of my comrades told me our leader was taken, it involved cuffs and a black bag.

Our belongings get thrown onto trucks, but we have to march the 15 minutes or so to the large training facility at Peacekeeper headquarters. The sun is low in the sky despite the late morning hour, shining in my eyes as I try not to slip on icy patches on the road. When we arrive, the man in charge tells us our bags have been searched for contraband, adding insult to injury. Good thing I never collected my illegal weapons from the woods. The search notwithstanding, they’re something for Katniss to remember me by.

The thought of Katniss only adds to my distress over Purnia’s disappearance. Does she know I’m gone yet? How is she taking it? Hopefully better than I did. But that’s unlikely. Katniss is a dramatic son of a bitch, no matter what she tells herself.

The man goes on to tell us we will have two weeks of training before we are reassigned to other outposts. So we can be refamiliarized with protocol that was rarely enforced, he explains. On that note, he informs us that all our officers have been dishonorably discharged. Though it’s not good news, I’m relieved to hear it. It’s better than the alternative.

***

It’s Sunday before we get our first day off. In a way it’s a blessing, spending several days in classes and training sessions. Unfilled time is what makes me spiral downward. Maybe Darius knows that and that’s why he shows up at my room in the morning.

“Hey, Jo,” he says, forcing a smile. “Have any plans for the day?”

“Just wallowing in my misery,” I joke from my bed. Though it’s not a joke at all. “Why? You have something better to do?”

“Thought maybe we could wander around town,” he suggests, leaning against the doorframe. “Or, you know, look for Purnia.”

Snapping upright, I squint at him. “What?”

“I know you’re worried about her. And she lives here, right?”

Yes. Yes, she does. “Her family lives down on 24th Street,” I inform him. My forehead crinkles. “Or maybe it’s her boyfriend who lives there. It’s a place to start, anyway.”

Glad to have a mission, especially one that can put my mind somewhat at ease, I whip through a late breakfast and meet up with Darius at his room. We set out on foot, fresh snow crunching under our boots as we venture closer to the outskirts of town. After about 20 minutes we reach the correct corner and stop, surveying the street.

“You saw her paperwork, once,” I say. “Did you remember her home address, or just her birthday?”

“Sorry, just the birthday,” he replies.

“Guess we’ll have to ask around.” At least it’s a short street, only one block long. They probably all know each other.

A couple houses away, there’s a person shoveling snow away from their door, so we head that way. “Excuse me?” I call when we get close. The shoveler looks up and pulls down the scarf obscuring their face. It’s a woman, tall and probably in her mid-thirties. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” I greet her, “but do you know where we can find someone named Purnia Stark?”

“Who’s asking?” she demands, eyeing our uniforms with suspicion.

“Oh, we come in peace,” I clarify.

“We were posted together in Twelve,” Darius pitches in.

The woman’s demeanor softens. “Right, of course. She said you were all pulled out.” Nodding across and down the street, she tells us, “Two doors down on the left. Don’t knock too hard unless you want to scare the shit out of her.”

“Okay,” I answer with a furrowed brow. The woman says nothing more, though, pulling her scarf back up and resuming her shoveling.

When we reach the house I think she was referring to, we tread lightly on the porch and I give the wooden door a soft knock, as instructed. There’s audible movement inside almost immediately, and within a couple seconds the door swings inward. A boy I peg as about ten or eleven stands in front of an open coat closet, eyeing us curiously. I blink. “Um, hi. Does Purnia Stark live here?”

Rolling his eyes, the boy tips back his head and hollers, “Mom! Peacekeepers!”

I barely have time to mouth, “Mom?” to Darius before Purnia’s voice rings out.

“Jason, get away from the door! What did I tell you?” Seconds later our former CO rounds the corner, armed with a crossbow. Seeing us, she heaves a sigh of relief and backhands him in the chest. “You could have told me they were friendly Peacekeepers.”

“How was I supposed to know?” grouses Jason.

“Off-duty uniforms, genius,” she huffs, resting the weapon on her hip.

My eyebrows still have yet to come down. “So this is Jason.”

“I told you you didn’t know what you were talking about,” she remarks pointedly. Turning to her son, she says, “Jay, this is Johanna and Darius. They’re friends of mine from Twelve.”

“Cool,” he says disinterestedly. “Is lunch ready yet?”

“No, but if you go help your father, it will be sooner,” she answers pointedly. He rolls his eyes again but disappears into the house. “Take off your boots,” Purnia instructs us. “Don’t go tracking snow all over my clean floors.”

“Domestic goddess,” I tease her. “I remember.”

She gives me a look but otherwise doesn’t dignify that with a response, silently leading us through the house. A half-finished model tank that Jason must have been assembling lies on the floor of the living room mere steps from the door, but otherwise the place does look pretty tidy. When we enter the kitchen at the back of the house, Jason is standing at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables. He’s sharing a cutting board with a man of about thirty who sits facing us. A girl a couple years younger than Jason is sitting with her back to the window, drawing something I can’t place from a distance.

Hearing our footsteps, the two we haven’t met look up from their work. Gesturing our way, Purnia makes the introductions. “Paul, Lena, meet Jo and Darius.”

“Johanna Mason?” Paul’s eyebrows arch and he shares a furtive glance with Purnia before smiling my way. “Heard so much about you.”

Oh, really? Glaring at Purnia, I lift a questioning eyebrow. It seems to take her a second to catch what I’m asking, but then she smirks and shakes her head. As I covertly sigh in relief, she places her crossbow on the counter. Nodding at the weapon, Darius asks, “You scared they’re going to come for you?”

“Darius!” I bark, giving his arm a light punch. He’s never been known for his tact, but for fuck’s sake, her kids are in the room.

Purnia, for her part, doesn’t appear all that upset, answering with a simple, “No.” Drumming her fingers on the counter a moment, she requests, “Kids, can you please go upstairs so we can talk?”

Jason snorts. “Jeez. You come back, and all you do is boss us around.”

“Watch your tone, young man,” snaps Paul.

Purnia gives her son the evil eye and is about to say something when I pipe up, “She bossed us around, too.” Everyone’s attention now on me, I shoot Jason a commiserating wink. “It’s the worst.”

A moment of silence later, Lena interjects, “Mom, can’t we go play in the snow? Please?”

While Purnia considers this, gaze bouncing between her kids, Paul volunteers, “Honey, I’ll take them.” Her eyes flit over to him doubtfully and he narrows his in response. “Don’t give me that look. I’ll take the bow.”

“A two-handed weapon?” Walking past the stove, Purnia grabs a butcher knife from the block on the next counter. “Here,” she says, laying it on the table. Lena claps in delight and jumps to her feet, but before she can get anywhere Purnia warns her, “Backyard. And stay where I can see you.”

“Ay ay, Captain,” agrees Jason, throwing her a sassy little salute. I snicker under my breath.

As the kids scamper to the front door to gather their snow gear, Paul bends over to grab something from the ground. When he straightens up and braces his right hand on the back of the chair to push himself to standing, I see the pair of forearm crutches in his left.

“Here, Dad,” calls Lena as she runs back into the room with an armful of winter clothes. She hands over gloves and a jacket, while is Jason on her heels carrying an extra pair of boots that he places at Paul’s feet.

Laying the crutches beside the cutting board, Paul smiles and eases himself back onto the chair. “Thanks, kids.”

There’s more conversation as the kids dress in their snow pants and jackets and pull on their boots, but I’m not paying much attention. It’s all coming together now. All the things Purnia’s said and all the ways I misinterpreted them. Wow, was I ever an accidental asshole.

Slipping the knife into his coat pocket, Paul secures his arms in the crutches and stands again. Now that know to look for it, I notice how little weight he puts on his right leg. On his way to the door he stops to give Purnia a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll holler if there’s any danger, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, reciprocating the peck with one of her own. Tempted to tease her, I smirk into my collar instead as her family heads outside. As soon as the door closes, she turns our way. “Mining accident eight years ago. Boulder crushed his shin bone and it didn’t set properly,” she explains. “They gave him a chair, but he prefers to walk.”

When she grabs the crossbow from the counter and crosses to the table, Darius inquires, “Is there a cougar out there or something?”

Purnia shakes her head as we all take a seat. “Sometimes the Capitol people will punish a traitor not by harming them, but their family,” she tells him as she pushes aside the cutting board and knives, making room for the bow. Eyes drifting out the window, she declares, “I’d never let them hurt my babies. I’d die first.”

Still trying to process this, I shake my head. “I thought the rules about kids were strict. How did you even enlist?”

“It was tricky. I had to divorce Paul, suspend my parental rights.” Reaching over the board, she plucks Lena’s drawing from the table. Studying it a moment, she turns it so we can see. It’s unfinished, but clearly a family portrait. “It was getting hard for them. And for me. Lena was barely off breastmilk when I left. I missed her whole childhood.”

“So… maybe it’s a good thing you got discharged?” I venture.

“A blessing in disguise, for more than one reason,” she admits. “I don’t know if I could have fought against your girlfriend’s rebellion, Mason. If I’d been demoted, the money might have run out. We’d be better off if the Capitol was overturned.” She snorts. “Even more so now, with me out of work and a borderline traitor.”

“You weren’t a traitor,” argues Darius. “You were the best Peacekeeper in Twelve.”

“They don’t see it that way. You two better watch your backs as well. Either desert and go into hiding or get with the program.”

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” he protests. “I wanted to maintain peace, not create terror.”

“The name is rather deceiving, isn’t it?” she smirks wryly. “I’ve been in the Corps long enough to know the dark side of it. I’ve seen things that… well, that display in the Square was nothing in comparison.”

“I know. I was in Eleven for the crackdown, remember?”

“Then why am I explaining this to you?” she retorts. “Don’t be foolish, Darius. This is serious business. And if it escalates to a war, there’s no telling what they’ll make you do.”

“Sounds like you really are grateful to be out,” I comment.

“I am,” pronounces Purnia. “Other than the money part. Most people are afraid to hire a dishonorably discharged Peacekeeper. Paul works a till at one of the food stores in town, but it’s only part time. It’s not enough to sustain a family of four.”

Bowing my head, I mumble, “I wish there was something we could do to help.”

“Maybe one day there will be,” she says with a wry smile. “But don’t worry about my family, you both have your own to deal with. I have things under control. Always do.”

We can’t argue with that.

A few minutes of chatting later, Purnia announces she should get back to making lunch before her kids come inside and start whining. Walking us to the door, she watches as we step into our boots. When we’re done, she urges us, “Please stay safe. Both of you.” Then she surprises us, or at least Darius, with a hug for each of us. Before letting me go, she plants a kiss on my cheek.

Suddenly blushing, I mumble, “I’m sorry about the train.”

“Don’t be,” chuckles Purnia. “It’s okay.” 

Eyes falling, I bite my lip. “And for everything I said about Jason. I had no clue.”

“That was the idea,” she remarks dryly. But there’s a hint of a smile there as she squeezes my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Mason.”

***

Perhaps it’s Purnia’s encouragement to deal with my own family that makes me seek out my brother’s company. Maybe it’s the oppressive loneliness making every day’s downtime drag by.

My attempt to thwart it by hanging out with Scarlett falls flat. When I show up at her house, her mom informs me she is in the Capitol for business and won’t be back until late next week. I’ll be gone by then. Darius is here for me, as I knew he would be. We spend time together, but I can’t allow myself to enjoy his company the way I once did. Not when I know I’m about to lose him to some other outpost.

Josh, on the other hand, is already lost to me. Sure, he’s alive and we occasionally talk, but he hasn’t been my emotional support in years. Not since I was thirteen and he betrayed my trust. He’s still my favorite family member, though. Not that he has much competition.

Since I’m here and free on a Sunday this time, Josh actually can make the time to come see me. Only for a few hours, but hey, it’s something. A few days before I ship out, we meet for lunch and drinks in a tavern near the center of town. There’s no stopping the way my face lights up when I see his smiling eyes. His arms are warm and strong as always, and I linger in his embrace as long as I can without embarrassing myself in public.

“Everyone says hi,” he tells me when we pull apart. “And they send their regrets.”

“Whatever,” I chuckle. “It’s not like I invited any of them.” When he merely stares at me, I laugh. Josh laughs along with me, but I catch his hesitance, the way he’s evaluating my level of sincerity. Jeez, and I’m not even drunk yet.

“It’s too bad you’ve committed to Peacekeeping,” he says as we grab a table. “They’re talking about reopening the old lumber mill in town. Could’ve used your axe skills.”

“Really?” That is a bummer. I would have chosen being a lumberjack over a Peacekeeper any day.

“Yeah,” he says. “Apparently there’s plans in the works to diversify some of the districts’ exports in case supply lines get blocked.” Or in case the districts are rebelling. I don’t say that out loud.

We keep our conversation to work-related stuff through most of lunch. Increased quotas in the mines that have forced him to jump in and help from time to time. The awful smell and broken boundary fence in Twelve, and the reprogramming we’re going through now. Eventually we get back to the topic of family, just in time for drinks. And I rack up quite the tab.

“It’s not like a soccer ball yet,” Josh slurs when I ask him how much Sabina is showing. “More like… more like Dad’s potbelly.”

My laughter makes me literally double over and almost fall out of my chair. “Oh my god,” I wheeze. “Oh my god, don’t tell her that.”

“No?”

“Not if you want to get laid in the next three, four months,” I cackle. “Or ever again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he grins. “No jokes about the baby bod.”

“It’s your damn fault. _You_ did this to her, as they say.”

“True,” he muses, mouth relaxing into a sappy smile. “I’m glad I did. I’m gonna be a fun dad.”

“I’m sure you will be,” I agree, tossing a chicken bone at him. “I can’t wait to meet the baby. It’s gonna be super cute.” With the least subtle wink ever, I reason, “Sabina’s hot, so.”

“Yes, she is,” chuckles Josh, who I’m pretty sure is still halfway sober and amused by my behavior. Not that I need to be drunk to entertain people. Still wearing that smile, he muses, “I got lucky in love.”

Ugh. Mood killer. Snorting into my beer, I mutter, “I’m anything but.”

Josh looks on me with sympathy. “Chances aren’t good you’ll get reassigned with your girlfriend, huh?”

Whether it’s the alcohol talking or I just wish to confide in him once again, I’m not sure. Either way, I pick at a chip in the wooden table and admit, “I wasn’t dating a Peacekeeper.”

“A local?” He snorts. “You would.”

“Worse.” Blinking up to his bewildered eyes, I drop the bomb. “A victor.”

In his somewhat inebriated state, it takes Josh a couple seconds to work this through, wheels visibly turning in his head. His eyes pop open the instant he connects the dots. Twelve has only one female victor. “No,” he all but gasps, staring in disbelief. At my affirmative snicker, he furrows his brow. “Wait, is she the same girl you were dating last spring?”

“Yep.” Sitting back in my chair, I fold my arms and boast, “How do you think she learned her hand-to-hand skills?”

“But she volunteered for her sister,” he reasons, still puzzled. “She wasn’t planning to go.”

“She was scared of being picked,” I shrug. “Tesserae and all.”

Face suddenly lighting up, he infers, “You’re the Jo she was talking about.” Josh shakes his head as he absorbs this. “Thought it was some dude.”

Smirking to myself, I take another swig of booze. “Pretty sure Katniss isn’t into dudes.”

“Can’t say I blame her.” He winks and my eyes roll back in my skull. “So your girlfriend murdered your ex. Was that satisfying or what?”

My jaw twitches. “Not exactly.”

Though he raises a curious eyebrow, Josh eases off. “Well, she definitely is your type,” he cracks, pitching the chicken bone back my way. Chuckling to himself, he adds, “You must love Peeta Mellark.”

Rolling my eyes once more, I tell him, “He’s a dipshit, but a decent person. They only got engaged because President Snow threatened my life and they needed to amp up the love story.”

Josh blinks hard. “What?”

“He knew about us, somehow.” Concern comes over Josh’s face, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t you dare tell Mom and Dad. God knows how hard he’d come down on me.”

“He can’t do that anymore, Hanna,” Josh assures me, waving away my concern. “You’re nineteen. It’s legally assault.”

“Somehow I doubt that would stop him.”

“But you would,” counters Josh. He gives me a smile and a light punch to the arm. “If anyone knows how to defend herself, it’s you. Uncle Leo’s broken noses proved that.”

My stomach bucks and I throw him a sharp look. I’m the only person I can handle discussing that situation so flippantly. Or at all, for that matter. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Sorry,” he immediately backtracks, straightening up and pulling his hands back to his side of the table. When I continue to glare he drops the defensive posture, holding my gaze earnestly. “Hanna, I’m sorry.”

Unable to maintain eye contact, I redirect my glower to the table. “I wish I’d never told you.”

“Well you weren’t about to tell Mom,” scoffs Josh.

“Yeah, for good fucking reason,” I spit. “I told you she wouldn’t believe me. Jordan was the ‘good’ kid, the one they’d actually believe, and he never tried that with her. She fucking adored him.”

“I really thought they’d believe you,” he quietly insists.

“Why would they, when you didn’t even believe me when I told you how they would react?” My voice has spiked in pitch and volume, attracting the attention of nearly tables. Leaning in, I lower it to a hiss. “You remember how much trouble I got in for ‘making things up for attention’? How I had to apologize to him? It was fucking humiliating. That’s on you, Josh.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

I scoff disbelievingly. “That’s what you’re sorry for?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Shaking my head, I let loose a dark chuckle and rise from my chair. Tossing some money on the table, I emphatically shrug on my jacket. “Just go home, Josh.”

“Hanna,” he calls as I start to storm away. Begrudgingly stopping in my tracks, I puff out a sigh and turn to catch his eye. “I hope you get posted in Two,” he says. “So you can see the baby. And the family.”

Right now, I really mean it when I say, “I don’t.”

***

The day we receive our new orders, I have no jitters. I don’t fidget as we sit in the auditorium awaiting our fates, don’t make idle chatter to take my mind off it. I’m almost eerily calm. Well, maybe not calm. Resigned. Or apathetic. That’s probably it. I have nothing left to lose, and I know it.

That’s no exaggeration. Darius isn’t the only person I’ve had to make peace with losing to this shake up. Though they’ve never said it outright, I’m assuming the powers that be plan to send us all to different outposts. There’s more than enough to go around. In the districts alone there’s just shy of ninety outposts, most of them scattered throughout the bigger districts largely comprised of villages. 1201 is actually one of the larger outposts because Twelve’s population is so concentrated. Back home in Meredith, I think they have about a dozen Peacekeepers posted there at any given time.

After a short debriefing, we file down to the front to collect the envelopes containing our orders and new ID tags. When I open mine and discover I’ve been assigned to Outpost 701, I feel a sense of relief that catches me off guard. I mean yes, that posting is ideal, but this is the first emotion I’ve felt in days. My blow up with Josh and everything it dredged up drained me completely. As I ponder my reaction to the assignment during our march to the station, I realize it’s not just the location allowing me this weird serenity. At least I’m no longer in limbo. I know what's in store for me.

The march itself is made especially uncomfortable by the awful heavy tactical armor we’ve all been issued. It’s part of the security improvements we were promised by Cray a few short weeks ago. A lifetime ago. When we finally arrive at the station, I collect my bags from the truck and amble onto the crowded platform, looking for somewhere to sit down.

Okay, that’s not all I’m looking for. Some of us have left our helmets on to combat the cold, making my search more difficult, but I’ve seen Darius packing or unpacking his overnight bag on a few occasions. Dark green, black straps. It takes a few moments of wandering through the maze of luggage and chatting Peacekeepers who mostly tower over me, but I spot the bag atop a larger suitcase near the far end of the platform. Sauntering up to where its owner sits quietly on a bench, I toe his boot and drop my bags next to his.

Easing myself down onto the bench, I wiggle my helmet off. The full face visor isn’t exactly conducive to conversation. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Pulling off his own helmet, Darius nods at the envelope still in my grasp. “Which train are you on?”

“Westbound.”

He cocks a hopeful eyebrow. “Headed to Four?”

“Seven. The main town, I think.” There’s only a one in three chance Darius will be on my train, so I don’t get my hopes up when I ask, “You?”

“Southbound. I’m posted in 213.” My eyebrows arch. That second to last digit denotes Zone B. The Roaring Fork region, which we both call home. While I’m trying to remember which outpost is which number and figure out if he’s headed to my hometown, he smiles. “Aspen,” is his answer to the unspoken question. No, not my hometown. His.

“Looks like you’re happy about that,” I remark blankly.

He gives me a funny look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Never mind.” Forcing a smile, I tell him, “I’m happy for you. Twelve to Two is a big improvement.”

Darius snorts. “Yet here I am, missing Twelve.”

“Me too,” I mutter. At the sight of Darius’s eyes softening, I wave him off and add, “Not just for that reason.”

Gazing out at the tracks, he ruminates, “With Thread it's probably terrible anyway.”

“I’m sure it is.”

We both go silent after that. A slow ache burgeons in my chest as I take in the scene. Ominous coal smoke spewing from locomotives, polluting the pure flakes of snow starting to fall from the sky. Old friends saying their goodbyes, bootsteps and voices and the occasional sob filling the air. Long moments pass before I reach out for Darius, gripping his hand. I feel his eyes land on me for a second before deflecting again, then he gives my hand a squeeze. Despite the comforting pressure, no warmth penetrates my glove.

Darius’s grip tightens when we start to hear whistles, and I don’t complain. The first train pulls up minutes later, then a call to board the Southbound train plays over the PA system. Contrasting my overall numbness, my stomach slowly slides into my bowels. Delaying a moment, Darius finally stands. Since he’s neglected to let go, I stand too. Giving me a brave nod, he says, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Maybe I’ll make it back to Two someday,” I chuckle through a tight throat.

Darius smiles sadly. “I hope you do.” Adam’s apple bobbing, he gathers me into his chest. I come more than willingly, wrapping my arms tight around his ribcage and letting my cheek rest against his breastplate. We stay like that awhile, until the noise of people moving around on the platform dies down some.

When he loosens his grip, I let my arms fall to my sides and force myself to look him in the eye. The pain in them brings me face-to-face with what is lurking under this heaviness smothering all my emotions. The ache in my chest only grows. Forcing one corner of his mouth upward, Darius brushes his gloved thumb over my cheek. “Bye, Jo.”

I want to say something. That I appreciate how he looked out for me this year even when he was mad at me, how he made me feel like I had a home. That he’ll be missed, even if things got kind of shitty between us. But I can barely form a single word. “Bye.”

Gathering his bags, Darius heads to the edge of the platform. He pauses at the door, stopping long enough to turn and wave before stepping on the train. When he disappears from view, the pain doesn’t stop so much as seep into my bones. Closing my heavy eyelids, I sink back onto the bench and wait.

***

Time flies in District 7, but only because I make it. Despite my lack of energy and the omnipresent weight on my shoulders, I fill my downtime with social endeavors, attempting to tire myself out so much it’s impossible to lie awake and think of all I’ve lost. It usually works, and when it doesn’t I drink myself to sleep. My new comrades think I’m some kind of party animal. Though I make many casual acquaintances, I never allow anyone to hold eye contact long enough to catch on to the chaos and sorrow roiling inside of me.

The passing weeks chip away at my sanity, and I find new ways to express my pain. I get my hair cut so it reflects me. Short and spiky. My drinking makes its way into the common areas, resulting in a few inebriated fistfights. I reign in my aggression after my first suspension, though. Three whole days without work to help pass the time is pretty good motivation to curb my behavior. I spend most of that time running on the forest trails outside of town or working out in the barracks gym until I pass out or puke. Though hoping for the former, it usually ends up being the latter.

Eventually, I befriend a boy named Atlas. He’s an asshole, but decent company. He reminds me of Darius, minus the kind heart and the drama. Irreverent and gregarious, but detached. Just what I need. He probably wants to fuck me. Despite how mouthy he is, he never blatantly says so, but I see the way his eyes linger on me whenever I cross a room. I’m open to the idea, seeing as I have nothing left to lose, but I never initiate anything. Haven’t felt like it, haven’t gotten around to it… I have a great arsenal of excuses to choose from.

Burying my feelings is made infinitely more difficult by the continuing news coverage of the upcoming celebrity wedding. I try to avoid watching TV because of it, but there’s usually one on in the common areas. Since locking myself in my room doesn’t help either, I tend to choose the option that allows company to distract me.

Katniss’s wedding dress is the Capitol’s hot topic of late. Over my first couple months in Seven, there’s several stages of voting for the Capitol citizens to narrow down Cinna’s two dozen designs. It all culminates in the final show one night in late March, when they show off the pictures of Katniss modelling the top six. Well, sort of. Caesar informs the audience, to a chorus of boos, that the results have been adjusted because several of the gowns have been removed from the running due to ‘modesty concerns.’ But a couple of the remaining ones don’t exactly fit my definition of modest. One covers her shoulders and back, yes, but has a plunging neckline down into her cleavage.

“Since when is a back sexier than boobs?” asks one of the guys nearby, clearly picking up on the theme in the remaining dresses.

“Since Katniss went and got herself flogged for poaching,” I answer flippantly. Instantly, dozens of eyes are on me. This program is required viewing, and most of my neighbors from this floor of the barracks are gathered in our small recreation room.

Brow creased, Atlas turns from his spot beside me on the couch. “Are you serious?”

I nod solemnly. “I was there.” This brings on several curious stares, and I find myself tensing up defensively for some reason. “Twelve, remember? It was right before the mass transfer.”

No one questions this or digs for any further details. I’ve developed quite a reputation and nobody wants to set me off. It would be easy right now, too, with the whipping and transfer now fresh in my memory. Even more painful is Katniss’s expression in one of the photos of the last dress. Though Caesar remarks on how beautiful and mysterious she looks, to me her eyes appear haunted and hollow. I wonder how she’s endured the months since I was taken. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but it’s hard not to when it’s right in my face like this.

“You okay, Jo?”

Blinking myself back to the moment, I flit my eyes over to Atlas. His brow is creased once again, but this time it appears to be concern morphing his features. I almost don’t know what to do with that. If he actually does care about me, that’s bad news. For both of us. Giving him a curt nod, I return my attention to the TV, where Cinna is leaving the stage to a standing ovation. Caesar urges the audience to vote and get Katniss to her wedding in style, then tells us to stay tuned for the next big event, something about the upcoming Quarter Quell. Then the anthem starts to play and I’m left with my thoughts.

As much as I try to ignore it, I feel my friend’s presence intensely after that exchange. I might go there tonight. Not out of any genuine desire, but because I need something to numb this. It’s all too much. I’ve spent so long shirking any human contact, and the gut punch of this program has made me oh so aware of the debilitating loneliness eating me from within. It would be easy enough to find a stopgap for the night. I’m female and we’re outnumbered about 3 to 1 at this outpost, so I could get a guy anytime I please. Probably a girl instead, if I felt like it. But that would no doubt remind me too much of what I’m hoping to forget. Yes, a boy would be better.

As the anthem continues, President Snow walks onstage with a young boy holding a wooden box. Right, the drawing of the card. Time to find out what fucked up nonsense they have planned for this summer’s murderpalooza. Snow takes his time getting there though, first giving a lecture about how the Hunger Games came to be after the rebellion and war of the Dark Days. It’s not like he’d leave that part out. Half of the districts have revolted in one way or another since the Victory Tour, and some are still actively rebelling. Mostly nonviolent stuff, going on strikes and what not, but it’s still a dangerous kind of defiance in this country.

Once he’s recounted the rules of the two previous Quarter Quells, Snow finally draws the damn card. Plucking it from the envelope, he reads, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors in each district.”

There is little of any reaction in the crowd for a moment, many of the onlookers appearing puzzled. I know how they feel. Existing pool of… oh, shit.

My heart sinks as it dawns on me what this means. The audience seems to catch on about the same time I do, gasps of horror and cries of protest filling the City Circle. But I say nothing, staring through the screen as I try to process this in my numb but buzzing brain. The only clear thought I can form is how brilliant a move this is. There’s no way it’s a coincidence. President Snow has found a way to eliminate Katniss without provoking the rebels after all. If anything, this will subdue them.

“Holy shit,” drawls someone nearby, breaking the stunned silence in the room.

“What will they do here?” asks another one of my bewildered comrades.

People begin tabling theories, but I’m completely lost. “What do you mean, ‘what will they do’?”

“There’s no female victor,” explains Atlas. Oh, right. Seven had a female victor once, but she’s been dead for years now.

Once the audience has quieted down a little, Snow continues, reading the detailed rules to guide this year’s reaping. “If a district lacks a male or female victor, any district resident of that sex over the age of eleven will have the opportunity to volunteer. If no volunteer comes forward, a second victor of the opposite sex will be reaped.” He goes on to read what will happen if there is only one living victor per district, or none at all, but my mind is stuck on that first condition.

Any district resident. Anyone who lives here. 

Silently taking my leave, I retreat to my quarters in a daze. I settle on the bed, bouncing my foot and staring at the wall as I try to parse this out. My first thought is that although the wording of that rule gives me a loophole to exploit if desired, I may not need to. Katniss is probably resurrecting her plans to flee the district right now. Then I remember she can’t. Not with the mended and charged fence. She’s probably in the middle of a panic attack, hemmed-in animal doomed to slaughter she is. But panic is the last thing I feel. In fact, my cheeks are beginning to tighten with my first genuine smile in months.

Though yes, I know she’s just been handed a death sentence, I won’t live to see Katniss die. When July rolls around, I will not be helpless on the sidelines again. This time, I will be there to protect her. No, I don’t feel panic. For the first time in far too long, I feel purpose.

I throw myself back into training with a vengeance. My body’s in great shape thanks to how I’ve been using exercise as a coping mechanism, but my combat skills are a bit rusty. Nice thing about Seven, there’s plenty of axes to throw. With my focus solely on this final mission and all my energy poured into training, my remaining months here whiz by even faster than the ones preceding the fateful announcement.

On Reaping Day, time grinds to a halt as reality hits and my nerves finally kick in. The reaping in Twelve is the third one of the day, airing at 11 AM our time. Ours is fifth, at noon, seeing as Seven’s a bit of a trek from the Capitol. Fortunately for me, I am assigned to crowd control in the Square, so I won’t have to abandon my post and risk getting held up and missing my chance.

People are only starting to gather while Twelve’s reaping is going on, so I get to watch most of it. Effie Trinket barely bothers masking her misery as she reaps first Katniss and then Haymitch. Peeta immediately volunteers - to protect Katniss, no doubt. Of course he does, pious little prick. That’s my job. I know he’d be more of an asset than Haymitch in the arena and I should appreciate the help, but I resent the idea of having to share Katniss at all. God, if they’re still pushing the romance hard and he tries to kiss her while we’re in there, I’ll be tempted to rip his throat out. Then again, I don’t see any reason why they would push it at that point. At most, only one of them will make it out alive.

I won’t. But I’m okay with that. If these last seven months are life without Katniss, I’ll gladly trade the rest of my life for a week by her side. My jitters gradually rise over the next hour, but it feels like anticipation rather than fear. Reuniting with Katniss is not the only thing I have to be excited about. I’ve been jerked around most of my life. The only significant choices I’ve made were to join the candidacy program and enlist with the Peacekeepers, and I was forced out of the former. My agency has been stolen by overbearing parents, then a traitorous girlfriend, and most recently the Capitol. But not anymore. For once, I am in control of my own fate.

So it’s no act of bravery when I come forward to claim my rightful place on that stage. It’s an act of defiance. In the lead up to the promised call for female volunteers, I holster my assault rifle and pull off my helmet. Take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Then, head held high, I step from the crowd and finally utter the words I’ve been waiting nearly ten years to say.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... anybody else ship Purhanna? Or is that just me and the beta?
> 
> Speaking of which, thanks to D7P for a job well done as usual. :D


	24. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Thanks for your patience. Chapter 25 won't be far behind. :)
> 
> As is often the case, there's some recycled and reworked canon content. Copyright blah blah blah.

The elevator slows its descent under my feet, making my stomach rise in my ribcage. It spasms and cartwheels as the doors open, and I take a deep breath to settle it. I immediately wish I hadn’t. The ground floor of the Remake Center smells of hay and manure, like the barn it essentially is. It’s also the gateway into the life I once craved. A life some part of me still craves.

Even with the doors leading into the Capitol streets closed, the roar of the expectant crowd rivals the volume of the heartbeat echoing in my ears as I step out into the vast room. Peering down the line of horses and chariots, I see small groups of victors gathered together and chatting. There’s nobody by the Twelve chariot at the back of the line, and I’m sure Katniss isn’t mingling and making acquaintances, so she must still be upstairs. But she’s not the only one I'm interested in chatting up.

Veering down the left side of the procession, I pass by my own chariot in favor of finding the District 2 tributes. I know both of them pretty well. Brutus was one of the victors most involved in the candidacy program, frequently training with us at the Academy, so it was no surprise when he volunteered. What was surprising was Scarlett Caskey’s willingness to re-enter the arena. Her name was picked and that bitch with the teeth tried to volunteer, but Scar declined to be replaced.

As I approach Two’s chariot, I glimpse Brutus in front of the horses, though he looks ready to amble away at any second. The leaves on my headdress rustle louder as I speed up, reminding me of just how terrible my costume is with every step. The form-fitted bodice is supposed to resemble a tree trunk, the sleeves scraggly branches. Leaves sprout off the backs of my hands and from the headdress, which is basically a bunch of small branches tied together. A five year-old probably made it.

Brutus hears my approach - how could he not? - and catches my eye. His smile is small but proud. “Johanna Mason,” he greets me, extending a hand. “You made here it after all.”

“That I did,” I concur, giving his meaty palm one firm shake.

My hand isn’t even back at my side yet before I hear Scar call out, “Jo!” She emerges from the other side of the horses, all smiles. While she wraps me up in a hug, Brutus gives me a nod and wanders toward a nearby group of victors that includes his likely allies Gloss and Cashmere. Pushing me an arm’s length away, Scar grips my shoulders and drags her eyes down my body. Down my costume, actually, though she thankfully refrains from commenting on it. “Both of us here together,” she muses, her voice bright but a sad tinge infecting her smile. “Who would’ve thought?”

“I know, right?” Considering what she said about the nightmares, I’m surprised she’s even in the Capitol, let alone among the tributes. Tipping my head, I cock a quizzical eyebrow. “I assumed you wouldn’t want back in.”

Scar turns to stroke the mane of the nearest horse, smiling tightly as it makes eye contact with her. “Well, I was told I had to come for the Games this year either way.” Digging in a pocket in her costume, she finds a sugar cube and holds it out to the horse. As it crunches away happily, she ruffles the mane and says, “Might as well get in on the fun if I’m here.”

My brow crinkles. “Why’d you have to come?”

”People who wanted to meet me, you know. Even after last year, I’m still a big name, and they need to keep the crowds happy.” Shrugging nonchalantly, she remarks, “I guess if I’m locked in the Training Center I won’t have much time with the public, but oh well. Not my problem.”

This attitude is understandable. Even I would have burned out on fame eventually, I’m sure. “Well, as much as I don’t want you dead, I have to admit it’ll be nice to have another friendly face in the arena.”

Scar arches her eyebrows. “I hope I can be.”

“What do you mean?”

Leaning in, she stage whispers, “I’d ask if you want in with the Careers, but I assume you have other plans.”

“Yeah,” I draw out. Taking a moment to silently hem and haw, I conclude, “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can twist her arm into an alliance.” The idea is laughable. Katniss isn’t an allies kind of person. But with this field of experienced killers, she might not have a choice.

Eyes narrowing skeptically, Scar points out, “You said she hates me.”

I shrug this off as though it’s no big deal. “She used to hate me too.”

“I’m sure you deserved it,” chuckles Scar.

“I really did,” I confess, a sheepish smirk quirking my lips. “I arrested and roughed her up the first time I met her.”

“Of course you did. Such game.”

“In my defense, she was poaching,” I inform her. “It wasn’t entirely uncalled for.”

Her eyes roll and flick to the left, then pop open. “Oo, girl on fire sighting, my nine o’clock!” My stomach plummets into my butt, my feet rooting themselves into the ground. Scar glances back and, noticing my hesitation, grabs me and pulls me closer. Licking my lips with a suddenly dry tongue, I lean forward to peek around the horse.

Katniss looks very different from the last time I saw her, wounded and vulnerable but high on drugs and love. Now she appears hardened. Beautiful and unbreakable. Much of it is in the way she carries herself, like a woman with no fucks to give and nothing to lose, but her outfit definitely adds to the effect. The black unitard and boots aren’t all that remarkable, but her face is streaked in dark makeup that highlights her sharp features and ferocity. Topping off the ensemble is a half crown evoking the one she received last year. It’s a simple detail, but a true gut punch.

“Wow.” Stepping back, I push out a quiet whistle. “Cinna’s good.”

“Well what are you waiting for?” prods Scar. My eyes flit to the right, down the long line of horses and chariots, before falling to the ground. She gasps theatrically. “Are you actually nervous?”

That’s all it takes to motivate me. Giving her a glare and the finger, I march away down the line. Squaring up my shoulders, I lift my head and take deep breaths as I walk, trying to curb my speed and enthusiasm. I feel like I did back in District 12, like a young girl with a shiny new crush. Like I did that evening I tracked Katniss down outside the Hob to give her a gift. All nerves, adrenaline both spurring me ahead and telling me to run and hide. For all I’ve changed since then, this much is the same.

As I round the back of the District 11 chariot, I hear Finnick Odair’s distinct voice coming from where I last saw Katniss standing. The first words I catch are, “What happened to the pretty little girl dresses?”

“I outgrew them,” Katniss states flatly as I sneak up behind Finnick, who’s wearing nothing but a bunch of ropes meant to resemble a fishing net. It’s not the first time I’ve seen Finnick’s ass, which is admittedly on par with mine. I hope for Katniss’s sake that he’s better covered in the front.

“You certainly did,” concurs Finnick in a tone that rides the line between charming and lecherous. I’ve heard enough.

Making my grand entrance, I sweep out from behind him. Katniss’s jaw slackens, eyes widening, and Finnick follows her stare. Crossing my arms, I shoot a fiery gaze up at the much taller tribute. “Beat it, pretty boy. She’s not interested.”

Finnick takes a couple seconds to size me up, drag his eyes over to Katniss and back to me. His grin does not match the faux cowardice in his voice as he raises his hands in innocence. “Ma’am yes ma’am, Agent Mason. Don’t arrest me, I’ve been a good boy.”

As he backs away, I scoff and shake my head. “What a smartass.”

“Says you,” retorts Katniss. Much like her valiant effort to keep her face blank, her deadpan tone betrays a hint of affection.

“Hey,” I purr, finally focusing on her. Raking my eyes over her body, I let loose a low whistle, a louder one this time. “Damn, girl. I’ve always liked your hunter aesthetic, but I could get used to this.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this one, Johanna.” Her serious tone pulls the grin right off my face, my eyes fluttering bewilderedly. “How could you do that to me?”

I’ve barely asked, “Do what?” when I spy her district partner approaching. Rather than answer my question, she follows my gaze. Adding insult to injury, she appears relieved to see him. As he joins us, I give him a cordial nod. “Peeta. Pleasure as always.”

“Nice to see you too, Agent,” he greets me blandly.

The repeated use of the honorific irks me, narrowing my eyes. “Hey, all I am right now is a tribute. Same as any of you.”

“You’re not the same,” declares Katniss. Her gaze is dark and powerful, anger simmering behind it. “You’ve never done this before, you don’t get what it's like. You should‘ve stayed home.” Though we haven’t been directed to yet, she turns to mount the chariot.

“I lost my home seven months ago,” I tell her as she pulls herself up onto the step.

Katniss freezes, one foot on the chariot floor. Half on, half off, she turns her head to catch my eye. Her helpless, almost desperate expression suggests maybe I’ve gotten through to her, but then the music starts and I’m forced to leave before I can make any more headway. Holding her gaze silently, I give her a lingering nod before making for the Seven chariot.

The roar of the crowd rattles my bones as the first chariot pulls out, ramping my heart rate back up. My district partner Blight is a quiet guy who barely acknowledged me on the train, but he thinks to warn me to grab onto our chariot’s railing a second before it lurches forward. I ham it up, of course, flexing and posing for the crowd. With the adrenaline getting to me, losing myself in the moment is pretty easy despite my strange interaction with Katniss. I barely think of it at all until I catch a peek of her and Peeta on one of the screens set up on the side streets for the overflowing throng of revellers. Their suits resemble embers or maybe hunks of coal, glowing various shifting shades of firelight. The crowns atop their heads burn red hot, throwing highlights and shadows across their already intimidating faces. I’m so enthralled I forget my own waving for a few seconds, until I notice they are once again holding hands in the chariot. Then my face morphs into a scowl.

Although Pissed Johanna is scary, I figure Cocky Johanna will get me more sponsors, so I swallow my emotions and try to enjoy the ride. It’s one I’ve waited a decade to take, after all. The crowd seems fond of me, which isn’t surprising. They think I’m one of them. There was a lot of speculation on talk shows last night and this morning about the mysterious tribute from District 7, with many talking heads assuming I was Capitol-bred because I’m a Peacekeeper. It goes to show how little they know about who protects them, which is hilarious and also a little sad.

When we reach the City Circle, President Snow does his customary welcome speech with only minor changes to acknowledge the significance of this year’s Games and who the tributes are. It’s pretty clear he wrote the speech before I volunteered, either that or he just hasn’t bothered to acknowledge that not all of us are victors. But I don’t mind not being singled out in such elite company, and considering that he threatened to kill me once, I’d rather not be acknowledged.

While dismounting inside the bowels of the Training Center, I’m approached by another pair of familiar faces. Lyme and Crag, this year’s mentors, both spent time teaching at the Academy. All the victors do - I think maybe it’s required. You know, unless they have a breakdown like that one girl did and get banished from the premises for fear they’ll scare the candidates off. We chat amiably for a few moments until Scar comes up behind me and slings an arm around my shoulders, Brutus on her heels.

Scanning the crowd of socializing victors as Scar takes over the talking, I catch sight of Katniss frowning in our direction. I’m not sure if it’s me she’s frowning at or Scar, or possibly the sight of us together, but within a couple seconds her attention is pulled away when Haymitch comes over with the tributes from Eleven. Seeder gives Katniss a hug, which is weird. Chaff grabs her and kisses her right on the mouth, which is even weirder. Katniss gets the hell out of dodge, understandably, taking advantage of the officials trying to corral us toward the elevators.

Telling Scar I’ll catch up with her in the morning, I duck out of our group and follow in Katniss’s wake. I want to give Chaff a piece of my mind, but settle for jostling him on the way by so I can get on the same elevator as Katniss. Cinna and Peeta’s stylist are lagging behind, but Haymitch has caught up with his tributes, thankfully leaving his friends behind. They’re the first to board an elevator and don’t have to wait for one to come down, so I almost don’t make it. Speed walking the final twenty feet, I slide between the closing doors at the last instant.

Katniss sighs wearily when I appear out of nowhere, her shoulders sagging. It would normally be insulting, but I’m guessing after Chaff and Finnick’s advances she just didn’t want to deal with anyone else bothering her. Including me. Taking in the car full of wary expressions, I pull on a cheeky grin. “Lovely to have the gang back together again, don’t you think?”

“It was quite the surprise,” says Haymitch as he presses the buttons for our respective floors.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tease. Turning my eyes to the tributes, I meet Peeta’s gaze briefly. Katniss, meanwhile, has her eyes glued to the floor, refusing to look at me. While I hate precious few things more than being ignored, I can fix that easily. I’ve always known how to make her stare.

Tossing aside my leafy headdress, I grouse, “Isn’t my costume awful? I swear, the District 7 stylists are the worst in the country. Their tributes have been trees for forty years.” Unzipping and peeling off the trunk part of the outfit, I kick it aside in disgust. “That’s better.”

The outfit included no undergarments, so save for a pair of slippers I’m standing there stark naked in front of all three of them. Not that I care about Haymitch’s appreciative smirk or how weirdly unaffected Peeta seems to be by the whole display. Katniss’s reaction more than makes up for it, anyway. It’s even thirstier than when I first I stripped naked in front of her at the lake. Hands clenching and flexing at her sides, she stares helplessly as the light from her glowing costume reflects off my bare breasts. Now I ignore her, killing the seconds to floor seven by complimenting Peeta on his paintings that were featured on the Victory Tour. But in my peripheral vision I see her eyes and mouth hanging open the entire time.

When the doors open on my floor, I finally look her way. Feeling my eyes on her, she forces hers up to meet them. Throwing her a wink equal parts boastful and provocative, I tell her, “You know where to find me.” As I sashay out into the large living area, much to the shock of the attending Avoxes, I hear first Haymitch and then Peeta bust out laughing behind me. I peek over my shoulder only long enough to catch a glimpse of Katniss still rooted on the spot as the guys’ laughter fades behind the closing doors. Admittedly I was kind of hoping she’d follow me, drawn like a moth to a flame, but the look on her face was satisfying enough.

I shower and dress in a bathrobe and slippers before dinner, which is decidedly awkward. No one seems to know what to do with or say to me, the unexpected intruder. It’s a little better than last night, when the shock was still fresh, but it’s clear they don’t trust me. Why would they? Not only am I a Peacekeeper, I’ve done nothing to indicate any interest in teaming up with Blight, which throws strategy talk out the window. Instead our Capitol escort tries to make small talk, which goes about as well as you’d expect.

After dinner we retire to a sitting room to watch a repeat of the parade and opening ceremonies. The only benefit to this is I get to watch all the tributes instead of focusing on the crowd and the glimpses of Katniss and Peeta I caught on the screens. Finnick is as charmingly handsome as ever, while Scar has whipped out her best fake smile and beauty queen wave. I actually don’t look half bad, considering the outfit.

Not keen on having to sit through Snow’s speech again, as the chariots pull into the Circle I rise and take my leave. Pausing where my stylist sits at the end of one of the couches, I promise her, “If you put me in another tree, I’ll tell my comrades I heard you talking shit about President Snow.” As I’m walking away, I have another thought. “And nothing Peacekeepery either,” I toss over my shoulder. “Something badass.”

Back in my room, I order a bowl of ice cream from the room service machine - which is just as cool as Scar made it out to be - and consider my next move. I assumed Katniss would want to be allies, but her hostile behavior in the Remake Center seemed to indicate otherwise. Still, I can’t imagine she wouldn’t want to team up, if for no other reason than she knows how deadly I am and that I can be counted on to protect her and Peeta. By the time I’m scraping the bowl, I decide I’ll wait a bit to be sure the broadcast is over and then go upstairs and try to talk to her. Not understanding our current situation is stressing me out, and I don’t want to spend all night pondering various what-ifs.

I’m lying flat on my back, legs hanging over the edge of the bed when a knock resounds through the room. My heart leaps out of my throat. I’d know that knock anywhere, that rhythm I heard so many times on my window back at the barracks. Consciously suppressing the urge to jump to my feet and run for the door, I take slow measured steps on my way there. Wiping my face of any excitement, I pull on the same seductive look I wore in the elevator. For good measure, just before opening the door I adjust my robe to display my cleavage and the swell of my right breast.

Swinging the door slowly inward, I smirk at the girl outside and rest my left forearm high above my head, braced against the door’s edge. “Here for a private show?”

Katniss’s gaze is drawn exactly where I intended, falling from my face to skim over the halfway exposed breast. Catching herself, she rolls her eyes and forces them deeper into the room. “Put those away.”

“Why?” I inquire as she slips by me. “Am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” she snaps, whirling around. “Yes, you’re fucking distracting me.” Raising an eyebrow, I close the door, making a point of locking it loudly to further get under her skin. But when I turn to face her, she doesn't look annoyed. She looks sad. “When my mom told me you were gone, I lost my will to live,” she says. “I could never make peace with losing you.” Her voice wobbles the slightest bit and she takes a moment to swallow. “But when they announced the Quell, I resigned myself to dying without you, saving Peeta. And now here you are, sweeping back into my life after all this time.”

My stomach aches with phantom sensations of the pain I felt upon losing her. The same pain I know she suffered. Readjusting the robe to better cover myself, I step closer with an earnest, “Katniss, I’m sorry I never came back.” Now within arm's reach, I extend a hand and rest it on her shoulder. The breath leaves my body as I do. This is all I’ve wanted for the last seven months, a chance to touch her again. It’s my turn to swallow. “I promised, I know, but I had no idea they were going to ship me out. And I had no chance to run.”

“You think that’s why I’m angry?” Though she still does retain some ire in her tone, what says more is how she doesn't move out of my reach. “I know that wasn’t your fault, Johanna. It hurt, it nearly killed me,” she says, voice nearly cracking again, “but it wasn’t your fault.”

“So what’s wrong? You're upset I volunteered?” Katniss gives me a small but solemn nod and my posture wilts despite my efforts. My voice sounds embarrassingly small when I say, “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

“Not here.” Pulling away, she sets her jaw and folds her arms. “You’ve put me in an impossible position, Hanna. How am I supposed to protect both you and Peeta?”

My mouth drops open with a huff. That's quite possibly the most offensive thing she’s ever said to me. “ _I_ volunteered to protect _you_ , Katniss. I don't need a babysitter. I’m not your deadweight perpetual liability of a fiancé.” Katniss opens her mouth to speak, but before she can I spout off, “And seriously, you're still having trouble choosing between us?”

“I shouldn't have to choose, Johanna, that's the point!” shouts Katniss, an angry flush creeping up her neck. “I’ve spent the last three months training and preparing to keep Peeta alive. That was the plan. Pardon me if I’m a little upset that you volunteered needlessly and now at least one of you is going to die.”

She has a point, one I can’t argue. But I’m pissed and not about to concede that easily, so I cock my head and snort, “Somehow I doubt Peeta’s going to go along with your little plan.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” she sneers. “All I want is to keep the people I care about safe, and they all think it would be awesome to volunteer in, put themselves in danger and make me feel even shittier about the fact that I’m gonna die. Hey, maybe Gale and Prim should join in on the fun! See whose death will upset me the most.”

Eyebrows at my hairline, I take a step back from my fuming girlfriend. “Jeez, you don’t have to be a dick about it.” Scoffing inwardly, I give my head a slow shake. “I can’t believe this. It never even occurred to me that you’d be anything other than thrilled to see me.”

“Yeah, apparently lots of things never occurred to you,” snaps Katniss. Tilting her head downward, she condescends, “Didn’t you think it was very fortunate how you got assigned to the main town of the one district without a female victor?”

“Yeah, I did,” I inform her brusquely, crossing my arms. “I got lucky for once in my life.”

“You seriously think that was luck? How convenient that my wannabe Career girlfriend was put in a position to volunteer.”

“Quite the conspiracy theory,” I remark, unimpressed. “For like the twenty millionth time, not everything is about you, Katniss.”

“Yes, it is,” she declares. “Right now, everything is about me. There’s no way this Quell is a coincidence. You know what's happening in the districts because of what I did last year.”

My indifferent facade drops as my eyelids flutter in surprise. “Wait, how do you know about that?”

“Beside the point,” she says, waving me off. Though I raise my eyebrows pointedly, she shakes her head, refusing to be steered off topic. “Look, Snow is doing everything he can to throw me off my game. You’ve played right into his hands.”

Pushing out a sigh, I decide to cut the bullshit and address the big fat elephant in the room. “What does it matter if I’m here or not? We both know he’s not letting you out of there alive.”

Katniss takes this in stride with merely a blink. “Then why bother trying to protect me?”

“Better than standing by and watching, like I did last summer. Like I did after the Tour.” My eyes drop at the memory. “And I needed to see you again. Before you died.” When I meet her gaze again, Katniss’s face has gone a bit lax, her eyes wide and gleaming. Saying nothing, she steps in and slowly lifts a hand, traces my jaw with her fingers. My eyes close reflexively but I force them back open, wanting to miss nothing. “Don’t you want to spend your last days with me, instead of wishing I was here?”

Now fully cupping my cheek, she swallows and nods. “Yes.”

I smirk as her fingers comb experimentally through my new haircut. “You miss it?”

“I like it,” she admits. “Less to grab, but I’ll make do.”

Finally - _finally_ \- she kisses me. Hard, too, fisting my hair and forcing her tongue past my lips right away. In contrast, her other hand softly slips under the robe to caress my shoulder and collarbone. I can't resist a dig. “So you came here to yell at me and then fuck me?”

“Shut up,” she says through more kisses. Stripping the robe off that shoulder with the back of her hand, she trails her fingers down my shoulder blade in a way that makes me shudder.

Returning the kisses feverishly, I turn us and start pulling her toward the bed, breaking the liplock only to gasp, “I need you inside me so bad.”

Katniss stops short with a blink. “Sorry, I didn’t think a strap-on dildo would make the best district token.” The shock of hearing her say something like that strikes me dumb for a second, unsure if she’s serious. Then she cracks a grin and I laugh aloud. Her smile turns self-satisfied at the sound. “Besides, I already have one.”

“Madge’s pin.”

Shaking her head, she reaches into her shirt. “Madge isn’t who I wanted to bring into the arena with me.” She fishes out a necklace, the chain of which I hadn’t noticed before. Her fingers open, and even once I see them sitting there plain as day in her palm, it takes me a moment to comprehend that she’s wearing my dog tags. That this is her token.

I’m speechless once again, this time with flattery. Reaching out, I run my fingers over the tags before weaving them between hers. “Just you is fine,” I tell her. Pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles, I rearrange my grip so her index and middle fingers are exposed. I plunge them deep into my mouth, then pull them down between us. Katniss gets the message, maneuvering between the flaps of my robe and up.

As her fingers slide inside me, I whimper involuntarily while she gasps in my ear. “Fuck,” I whisper, my hands moving to claw the back of her neck. Katniss's left hand deftly unties my robe and slips in to get a grip on my hip, and I disconnect just long enough to shrug it off and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes widen at the sight, but she doesn't explore my body further, keeping her hands fast in a commitment to fucking me soundly first. No objections here.

Unlike our last major reunion, we don’t go soft or slow. She’s rough in a way that I like. I lift my left leg and attempt to hook it around her hips to allow her easier access. Katniss responds heartily to the invitation, but I can’t get a good grip and my leg starts to slip. Feeling my struggle, she reaches behind her back to grasp my ankle, supporting some of my weight. She’s remarkably good at multitasking, managing to pull off the slipper and sock without any interruptions to her rhythm.

The positioning is such a turn on that within a minute I'm pulling myself up to wrap my other leg around her waist, spreading my legs wider and demanding she bear even more of my weight. She doesn't disappoint, left arm now looping around to hold me up by the small of my back. Even when I briefly loosen my legs to peel off my last sock and slipper with my toes, her grip doesn't falter, and neither does her steady and tireless fucking hand. A bit surprised, I run my hands over her upper arms, shoulders, and chest, feeling their firmness through her shirt. She’s solid, has gained back the weight she lost on the Tour and then some.

“You’re so strong,” I breathe. I don’t mean it in a patronizing way, like some women will say to men to stroke their egos. And thankfully, Katniss doesn't interpret it that way.

“I work out,” she deadpans. Her facetious grin makes me think she’s mocking me until she adds, “I’ve been putting Peeta and Haymitch through their paces. We were all trying to beef up.”

Her fingers begin to curl and swirl, drawing out each pull back. Suddenly at my least articulate, I can barely get out a, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Was putting your teaching to good use.”

A chuckle breaks through my ragged breathing. It takes a few pants to recover enough breath to comment, “Seems you’ve learned well.” Proving my point, she rubs her thumb over my clit, making me whine out her name. My legs start to fail with the extra stimulation, but she’s got a strong enough grip on me that it doesn't matter. I’m quickly ramping up, pressure building in my walls, and instinctively I begin bouncing my hips against her hand to meet each of her thrusts. Our coordinated effort feels amazing, but she outpaces me before long, grunting her effort into my chest as her arm moves furiously, determined to make me come.

I may usually be the quieter one, but my desperation to get off pushes a series of moans out of me in the final moments, culminating in a loud gasp and cry of surprise. The orgasm itself isn't a surprise, but just how hard it is catches me off guard, walls squeezing tight around her fingers and dousing them in cum while pleasure rumbles through my groin and body, giving me the sweetest headrush. Katniss slows to a stop but leaves her fingers inside, which I appreciate. It adds a little something to the aftershocks, that and I just like it when she stays awhile.

Groaning as I come down, I sink my teeth into her neck, tasting the salty sheen of sweat forming on her skin. An inward chuckle echoes through her chest as she grazes fingers up and down my spine. It takes a bit to get my brain working again, the first words I manage to form being “Holy shit fuck.” Katniss snickers as she slowly pulls out, other hand sliding around my ass and down my right thigh. I scowl up at her as I lower my free leg, which is still quaking conspicuously. “What?” I demand, struggling to keep my footing and my dignity. “I haven’t gotten laid in nearly eight months.”

Katniss lets my leg slip from her grip. “Really?”

Cocking an eyebrow, I cross my arms over my chest. “You think I’m some kind of whore?”

Clearly not catching the lilt of humor in my question, Katniss backtracks, “Not in a mean way.” It’s one of the bluntest answers she’s ever given me. I can’t help but chuckle, and her eyes narrow defensively. “What? You like sex. This is very well established.”

Chuckling once more, I place my palms on her shoulders and smooth them down the length of her shirt as I explain, “I was too depressed before the announcement, and after that I knew I’d see you again. Wasn’t interested in anyone else.” Winding my fingers in the lower hem, I start to peel it back. She lifts her arms to accommodate me, leaning forward a little so I can pull it all the way off. Noticing that her shoes are exacerbating the height differential, she takes a moment to shuck them and her socks.

When she bends over to do this, I get a good look at her back and a prompt stab of pain under my ribs. The scars marring her skin have faded with time and are surely less ugly than they used to be. Unfortunately the ugly sights and sounds of that evening haven't faded from my memory. I doubt they’ve faded from hers at all either. As she straightens back up, I press forward for a kiss before she has a chance to read the guilty expression on my face. But when I let my hands slide down her neck and onto the exposed skin of her shoulders, I feel a scar under my left hand just inside her bra strap. My mouth drops into a frown mid-kiss.

Katniss disengages, her face a question. Stroking my fingers across the strip of raised skin, I wait for her to clue in. When I see it dawning on her, I ask, “Does it hurt?”

“No.” Eyes bouncing away, she admits, “Some spots, I can’t feel anything.”

The melancholy of the moment is stifling, so I crack, “On the bright side, if you win maybe they’ll give you another full body polish.”

Katniss laughs, eyes lighting back up. “You’re such an asshole.” With that, she pushes me down onto the bed. The subsequent surge in my libido is intensified by the visual of her unzipping her fly. Pushing down her pants and underwear with one hand, she points the other at the pillows. “Headboard. Now.”

More than happy to obey, I shuffle up the bed on my back but keep my eyes on her as she steps out of the pants. I refuse to even blink while she straddles my legs and walks forward on her knees. The view as she settles them on either side of my head makes me lick my lips, but Katniss wants that tongue elsewhere immediately. Cupping the back of my head, she pulls me into her and holds me there. Her groan of relief when I press my warm tongue against her throbbing clit makes my eyes flutter shut. It’s the most satisfying sound. Her whispers of encouragement as I start drawing little circles provide some stiff competition, though.

I take my time with her, undoubtedly more than she would like. She pushes down into my soft flutters and suckles, one hand threading into my short locks and the other white-knuckling the headboard. It's encouraging, but I still kill a few more minutes before stiffening my tongue to increase the pressure, mostly because my number one goal in life is to be annoying. Her legs begin to shake on either side of me as I accelerate, and I dig my nails into her ass.

A hard pulsing suckle makes Katniss gasp and press down harder, her fist tightening and wrenching on my follicles. I flatten my tongue to rub back and forth, and she responds by rolling her hips more aggressively, putting her whole body into it. Releasing her butt for the moment, I slide my hands up her ribs to work the sports bra over her head and get her completely naked. As my thumbs wiggle their way under the elastic, she warns me, “You do that, you’re gonna have to hold them.”

I disengage long enough to say, “I’m okay with that,” but barely. I’m not even done the sentence before she's tightening her grip once more and forcing my mouth back where it belongs. My arms are only so long, so she lets go for all of five seconds to strip it off. Before she can grab hold again, I nab the tags and give a little tug, and she obediently ducks her head to allow me to pull the chain over her head. Fortunately for my scalp, she grabs a slightly different patch when she fists my hair again, holding me in place as she resumes fucking my mouth.

Staring in wonder up the plane of her stomach, I enjoy the view of her breasts bouncing a few times before following orders and cupping them. I give her nipples some little pulls and rolls and she moans, speeding up and latching onto the headboard again. “Almost,” she pants. “So close.”

Moaning into her pussy, I suck her again, harder, rubbing my tongue furiously without breaking the suction. Her hips shake again, more erratically, and she makes a string of escalating noises before coming with a shout, seizing up against my mouth. I moan again in approval, sweeping softly back and forth as I bring her down. She still seems not to have her wits about her by the time the pulses die down, so I drag my tongue around to slurp up more of the juices soaking my chin and dribbling down onto my neck. She hums in appreciation, rubbing a thumb over my hairline.

I can’t imagine what Blight and the others guys are thinking if they can hear this. Though I can imagine what they might be doing. The thought makes me smirk, and she meets my eye. “What?”

That mental image would likely not amuse her nearly as much as me, so I say, “You’re not having any problems now, are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “Great, now I'm thinking about it and probably will.” Pausing in thought, she muses, “Things feel different now. Whatever, I’m gonna die. Now that I know that, I can stop being afraid, jump right in instead of detaching from everything.” She sweeps a piece of her bangs back, tucking it behind her ear with a shy smile. “Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “You seem a lot different now.”

“I am,” she agrees, though her brow scrunches the longer she looks at me. “Or, I was. I thought I’d stay focused and go out with a bang.”

“Ugh, I know,” I scoff. “I’m so distracting.”

“You are, damn it.” Shuffling backward, she sits on my hip bones and runs her hands up my belly and over my ribs, ending in a soft squeeze of my breasts. “You and your perfect boobs and gorgeous muscles, all naked and shit? That wasn’t fair.”

“Wasn’t meant to be fair, brainless.”

She gives a half-hearted glare but continues to massage my breasts, making my eyes fall shut with a sigh. They stay closed as her fingers brush over my nipples, as they give little pinches and tugs that make me hum in pleasure. Her hips lift again and I exhale in expectation. I know what's coming next. Even so, the sensation of her warm mouth closing around one nipple is so strong and good after all this time that I moan and arch off the bed, grabbing fistfuls of blanket. She gets her fill of both breasts, suckling and nibbling each nipple while rolling and pulling whichever one is unlucky enough not to be in her mouth at the time. It feels so fucking good, I'm squirming and whimpering and begging her not to stop.

In an attempt to take back just a little control, I weave my fingers into her coffee-colored locks and give them a tug. She smirks into my chest. “Taking advantage?”

“Hell yeah,” I breathe as she resumes sucking. Winding my hand into her hair, I threaten her, “You pull my hair that hard, imagine what I can do with yours.”

Katniss nods, humming into my left breast. She lets go with her right hand in favor of sliding it down my body, and when she touches me again, the air leaves my lungs. “Yes, baby.” With her manipulating all my most sensitive parts, I squirm and squeeze my fist again. She whimpers just a little at at the pain, and I grip her tighter and cup her skull with my free hand, giving silent instructions. As much as I’m enjoying what she’s doing, the power rush is taking over. Before she knows what's happened, I’ve flipped her on her back, looming over her with a triumphant grin. “But I think I’ve earned a turn on top.”

Morphing her aroused expression into a sassy one, Katniss tips her head. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Katniss purses her lips noncommittally and I narrow my eyes. “You disagree? You need me to remind you just how hard I made you come not even ten minutes ago?”

She shrugs. “I mean, it wouldn't hurt.”

“It might, if you keep that attitude up,” I warn her.

Squinting through slits, Katniss gives me a droll, “Oh no.” I’ve clearly been a very bad influence; it’s like talking to myself. I don't know how she deals with me all the time. Stuck for words, I growl and bite down on her shoulder. Whether her resultant whimper is from pleasure or pain, I cannot tell. I know which it is when my fingers find her clit, though. “Johanna,” she whispers.

“Yes?” I draw out, flashing her my best bedroom eyes. She glares and grabs the back of my neck with her free hand, pulling me down and into a kiss. That's one way to shut me up. Her fingers begin to move again and I groan, sinking down so we’re finally skin to skin. It feels even better than the touches themselves.

There's less urgency now that we've both gotten off, and we take our time, enjoying the physical closeness. Nips of lips, shared breaths, hands trailing over ribs. Though I was not a fan of the hair removal process, the sensation of our silky smooth calves rubbing together is amazing. From the way Katniss keeps brushing hers up and down the length of mine, I'd say she agrees.

Eventually I prop myself up on an elbow to get better leverage with my other, currently more important arm, but keep it close enough to graze my fingers over her cheek. Now losing too much breath to kiss, I kiss a trail down her jaw, and we end up moaning into each other’s necks. “I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper. “So much.”

This goes on awhile, surprise surprise. Once we’ve both had our fill, I settle on top of her again, in a different position of course. One of my hands is splayed on her collarbone while the other cups the back of her right shoulder, feeling her muscles’ tiny movements as she trails her fingers over the ridge of my shoulder blade. The fingers of her left hand play absentmindedly in my hair, twirling tiny pieces between her thumb and forefinger. We’ve been lying like this a few moments before she hums contentedly and comments, “I like your weight. I’ve missed it.”

Nuzzling her breastbone, I murmur, “I’m not squishing you?”

“Nah. You’re widdle,” says Katniss, grin audible in her tone.

I scowl into her chest. “I’m gonna kick your ass, Everdeen.”

“Later,” she says. And she's right. Ass kicking requires movement, something neither of us is keen on right now. “Oh, I almost forgot. Haymitch sent me here to deliver a message.”

I tilt my head up a little to make eye contact. “Really?”

Katniss nods. “You’re eating breakfast with us tomorrow. He said if you’re gonna be here we need to discuss a publicity strategy, get our story straight.”

It’s not difficult to guess what may be on the agenda. My brow crinkles in both thought and concern as I eye up my eternally private girlfriend. “Do you want to tell people?”

Though her eyes flick away, she gathers me tighter into her chest. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna think about that right now.”

“Me neither.”

Her hands continue to sweep back and forth over my neck and back, lulling me into unconsciousness. As much as I’d like to stay awake and soak up every minute of the precious days we have left, falling asleep is easier in her arms. Despite the less than ideal circumstances of our reunion, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in ages. Even heading for my certain death, I feel content. Safe.

***

It’s morning when I float back into consciousness, judging from the light my eyelids can’t entirely block out. My face is still smushed into Katniss’s chest, but we're on our sides now, limbs tangled together. Burrowing deeper to block out the light, I inhale deeply. I’ve missed this as much as anything. After her Games, Katniss got more clingy and I had to get used to constant contact at night even in her new queen-sized bed at the house. Getting unused to it took a long time. Hugging myself at night, curling up into a ball for extra warmth.

Her breathing changes before long, indicating she's woken up. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady because, as much as I could appreciate some early morning kisses, I like how she’s holding me and grazing her fingers over my skin the way you do to a sleeping person when all you want to do is stare adoringly and not disturb them. But my body betrays me, first with goosebumps rising beneath her fingers and then a conspicuous shiver. Damn it. Katniss presses a kiss to my forehead and it crumples against her lips.

Barely opening my eyes, I grumble, “What time is it?”

Katniss detaches from me to roll over and check the bedside clock, and I pout at the loss of contact. “Shit. Almost nine,” she says. Whoops. Not so early morning after all. “We should get upstairs.” She gets up immediately, a talent I have never understood, and starts collecting her clothes. Threading her arms through her bra straps, she jokes, “Surprised Haymitch hasn’t sent out a search party yet.”

“He knows where you are,” I say, stubbornly staying put.

“A strongly worded message, then,” she quips while working the shirt over her head. As her hands tug the bottom hem down over her stomach, her face suddenly pales.

My forehead creases. “What?” Katniss doesn't answer, but her panicked expression as she rounds the bed tells me it’s something serious. She crouches to look under the bed, and apparently doesn't find what she’s looking for because she next rips the covers back, pulling them right off my body. “Hey!”

Sighing in relief, Katniss picks up my dog tags from where they’d wound up between the sheets. Finally looking my way, she notices my curious gaze and blushes a little. “Besides the wedding dress shoot, that’s the first time I’ve taken them off since Prim found them under the couch.” Eyes flicking down to the tags, she swallows and drops them around her neck. “It wasn’t long after I found out you were gone,” she murmurs, taking a second to rub one between her thumb and forefinger before shyly meeting my gaze again.

Warmth floods my body, but for some reason this sentimental statement makes me feel awkward and I have to force myself not to blink away. Instead I give her a corny double twitch of the eyebrows. “As I recall, you weren’t the one who took them off.”

Narrowing her eyes playfully, Katniss swipes my allotted training clothes from the closet and pitches them at me. “Shut up and get dressed.”

Pouting, I slide off the bed to find some undergarments. Katniss bends over to grab her pants, and on the way by I give her bare ass a hard slap that makes her startle and yelp. That’s all it takes to wipe the frown from my face. I dawdle through the process of getting dressed, and by the time I’m crouched down tying the brand new running shoes, Katniss has already finished braiding her hair and is pacing around and sighing loudly. Actually, I think the thing I missed more than anything was getting on her nerves.

“About fucking time,” she grumbles as I stand up. Taking my hand, she tows me out of the room and farther down the hallway, away from the living area and elevator I assumed we were heading to. She pushes through a door at the back of the apartment to reveal a concrete stairwell.

“Is this how you snuck in last night without creating a fuss?” I ask as she tugs my hand in a silent order to move. My voice echoes up and down the stairwell, which looks to stretch the entire height of the building. Katniss simply nods, neglecting to speak for the five-flight climb. When she steers me onto the landing with the door marked number twelve, I peer up the remaining steps to the white dome-shaped room at their terminus. “What’s up there?”

“The roof,” she says, surprising me by stopping to follow my gaze up to the dome. “I'll show you later, it's really cool.” Then she pulls open the door and ushers me inside ahead of her.

Their floor is identical to mine, same hall of bedrooms and same living area, where Haymitch and Peeta are already up and eating breakfast. Beyond the dining table is a long banquet table crowded with various breakfast options. My stomach gurgles, no doubt thanks to the strenuous workout Katniss gave me last night.

Hearing our footsteps, Haymitch turns his head and beckons us silently from where he sits at the head of the table. Swallowing his mouthful of food, he scowls, “You’re late.”

“Are we?” Katniss sits herself down to Haymitch’s right, across from Peeta. She raises an eyebrow. “Did you say a specific time?”

“I said early,” he snaps. “For some reason, I thought you had a speck of common sense in your body.”

To my surprise, Katniss doesn’t look at all offended. If anything, she appears amused. Maybe they’re always like this. As I shift my weight to go sit on the opposite side of her, she catches my arm and pats her lap invitingly. Maybe she’s trying to annoy Haymitch or maybe she’s as starved for my touch as I am for hers, but either way I happily oblige. Sinking onto her, I drape my arms around her neck as hers encircle my waist.

Haymitch rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment on our positioning, just starts right in on the strategy talk. As he goes on, I let my right hand slide down to find her left where it rests on my hip. Our fingers brush a few times before sliding between each other. She gives my hand a gentle squeeze and I let my forehead fall against hers. The moment feels perfect until it’s interrupted by Haymitch loudly clearing his throat. “Excuse me, ladies, but I’d like to keep these pancakes down.” Rolling our eyes in tandem, we both straighten up and give him our full attention. “Were either of you listening to a word I said?”

“Yes. We need to establish a narrative heading into the Games,” Katniss repeats irritably. “Let me guess, it’s hands off for the two of us? More star-crossed lovers bullshit?”

“That’s my recommendation. The most important thing is for all of us to be on the same page. If both of them are trying to feel you up in the gymnasium, it’ll raise questions,” drawls Haymitch. He sits back. “Of course, you suddenly going from being in love with Peeta to being in love with Johanna would raise even more questions. People will question which one was the act. It’ll torch your credibility.”

Katniss sighs, idly fiddling with the silverware at her place setting. Though Haymitch is growing visibly impatient, he waits for a response. Finally, she speaks. “Who I’m sleeping with is nobody’s business but mine. But I don’t want to fake being in love with Peeta anymore.” She sets her jaw. “If I’m going to die, I want to die as me.” Finally flicking her eyes up, she catches Peeta’s. “I already let them change me.”

Peeta gives her an understanding and wistful nod, but Haymitch is not so easily swayed. “Katniss, it’s important that you remain sympathetic to the Capitol audience,” he stresses.

“Why? No amount of sponsorship is going to save me.”

“Exactly. Our best shot at keeping you alive is getting the Games cancelled. The star-crossed lovers being torn apart by the Quell is a huge story right now, and there’s already people protesting. People who live here.” Haymitch nods my way but retains eye contact with her. “Maybe you didn’t care about surviving before, but you have reason to now.”

“Haymitch,” I chastise him. “Don’t be a dick.”

“He’s right, Johanna,” interjects Peeta. “I don’t like this any more than you do-”

“Whatever you say,” I snort.

A spark flashes in Peeta’s usually gentle eyes. “No, you know what? Shut up,” he snaps. “It’s not easy for me either, having to keep this up when I know Katniss is in love with you. It’s not like I can move on or even have a hope in hell of getting over her.”

“Boo hoo, you still get to make out with her.”

“I’d rather not if she doesn’t mean it.”

“Guys!” barks Katniss. “I’m sitting right here.”

I turn to her with a sheepish look, but she’s focused on Peeta. He sighs, dropping his gaze to the table. “Look, all I want is for you to survive,” he says, catching her eye again. “That hasn’t changed. And if keeping up the fake romance is our best shot for all of us to survive, I think we have to take it.”

Katniss’s jaw twitches, her glum glare settling on her placemat. “I want to think about it.”

“Just don’t go sucking her face off while you think about it,” advises Haymitch. “The Gamemakers aren’t supposed to reveal anything they see during training, but they’re greedy. We can’t count on them not to spill a big story for money. Nor the other tributes.”

“Fine, whatever,” grouses Katniss. “Are we done?”

“Not yet,” says Haymitch pointedly. “Train however you want. Everyone knows your strengths now anyway.” Glancing at me, he throws out an offhand, “Other than you, but it’s not my job to keep you alive.”

This irritates me, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like I want Haymitch for a mentor. “Good, Katniss almost dehydrated on your watch last year,” I snark. “Or were you too drunk to remember?”

Katniss squeezes my thigh, grabbing my attention. “That was on purpose, Hanna. He was trying to tell me to keep looking for water.” I squint down at her bewilderedly and she waves me off. “Never mind.”

Haymitch clears his throat, shooting us a look. “As I was saying, the stations are up to you. But I want you to make some friends down there.”

“No,” says Katniss. “I don't trust any of them, I can't stand most of them, and we have three of us already.”

“That's what I said at first, but-” Peeta begins.

“But it won't be enough,” Haymitch insists. “You're going to need more allies this time around.”

“Why?” she demands, equal parts suspicious and petulant.

“Because you're at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they're going to target first?”

“Us. And nothing we're going to do is going to override any old friendship,” argues Katniss. “So why bother?”

“Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd,” lists Haymitch. “That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you're willing to team up with them.”

“There is safety in numbers,” I point out, absentmindedly fiddling with her collar. “It’s worth considering, Katniss.”

Katniss looks up with a haughty sneer. “I’m not joining your Career pack.”

My hand stills. “That’s not what I meant,” I state flatly. “Other than Scar, I don’t trust a single one of them. Especially not Finnick.”

“Make your own pack, then,” says Haymitch. “Everyone's a victor, so choose who you’d like. I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder.” Catching my eye, he adds, “Although Finnick's not to be ignored. Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you're not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in.”

“Okay, fine,” grumbles Katniss. “I’ll try.”

Sliding off her lap, I nod at the breakfast spread sitting on the table at the front of the room. “Come on, let’s get some food.” If she hadn’t just insulted me, I’d offer her a hand up. Instead I make a beeline for the bacon.

My irritation abates the longer we sit elbow to elbow, especially once her foot starts trailing up and down my calf. The promise behind it speeds me up. We finish eating around 9:30, leaving us half an hour to kill. I’m swallowing the last of my eggs when Katniss yanks me out of my chair and tows me toward her room. I look back long enough to see the guys watching our hasty escape, Peeta staring blankly and Haymitch rolling his eyes.

Slamming the door behind us, Katniss shoves me, sending me stumbling backward toward the bed. I’ve barely regained my balance before her hands are on me, one squeezing my ass and one grabbing my junk through my pants. I’m shocked at her assertiveness but don’t complain, throwing my arms around her neck. She gets in a few seconds of groping before breaking my grip, tossing me onto the mattress. Stopping for nothing, she goes straight for my waistbands, ripping them down with a ravenous look that almost makes me come on the spot.

That quickly, her head is buried between my thighs and hands are all over my body, surfing the curves of my hips and riding up under my shirts. I help her by removing them and my bra and repositioning her hands on my breasts, then prop myself up on my elbows so I can watch her work. And it’s quite the show. Katniss loses herself in her task, getting me off three times in short order before surfacing for air. Strands of hair plastered to her forehead, she leaves a trail of reverent kisses along my thigh crease and the inside of my hip bone. Reaching the soft flesh of my stomach, she meets my gaze. “You’re delicious,” she proclaims, voice husky and eyes on fire.

I’m so turned on I can’t even speak, only stare with trembling lips and an open mouth. Thankfully, she needs no more encouragement. Kissing her way back down, she drags her tongue through my crevices, making my legs shiver against her back. We’re so engrossed in the act, both of us jump when knocks as loud as gunshots suddenly ricochet off the walls. While we try to catch our breath, Haymitch pounds on the door again and demands Katniss get out there now, Effie is there to pick them up.

“She’s early,” Katniss groans into my belly.

Stroking a thumb over her hairline, I promise, “I’ll get you back later.”

“Not what's on my mind at the moment,” she grumbles, pushing off the mattress. “Be right there!” she calls, stripping off last night's clothes on the way to her closet. Inside is an outfit matching mine and similar to Peeta’s. Black and silver tank top and knee-length workout pants, plus a snug zip-up training sweater which she forgoes for now, slinging it over one forearm instead. Without it her shoulder blades are visible and so are the scars on them, but I don’t comment on it. No need to make her self-conscious. Pushing back sweaty strands of her bangs, she asks, “How do I look?”

She looks like she’s been motorboating my pussy. Eyeing her flushed cheeks and the residue of cum on her chin and upper lip, I bite my lip to contain a grin. “You might wanna wash your face first.” I was halfway tempted to say nothing just to see how Haymitch and Peeta would react, but Katniss despises humiliation and would be mad at me all day if I let her leave the room like that.

When she returns from the bathroom and I nod my approval, she bends down to give me a parting and especially tasty kiss. I can’t help but moan into it a little, and she pulls away with a cheeky smirk. “See you down there.”

After taking a minute to gather my wits and my clothing, I step out into the hallway. The tributes are gone but Effie is still here, embroiled in conversation with Haymitch by the dining table. The floor squeaks beneath my feet and both turn their heads. Haymitch unabashedly glares at me while Effie gives me a strange and ponderous look. Betraying none of my discomfort, I give them a saucy little wave and disappear down the hall. I'm not retreating, I just figure it’s smarter to take the stairwell to floor seven than potentially get caught in an elevator above my floor.

Blight is lounging at the table in slippers and a bathrobe when I return, holding a newspaper in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. Though I ignore him on the way by, once I swipe a couple strips of bacon from the buffet I do wander over. Nibbling on the crunchy meat, I state the obvious. “You’re gonna be late.”

“I’m not going,” he says disinterestedly as he turns a page.

My forehead crinkles. “Why not?”

He peeks over the newspaper briefly. “I’d rather spend my last week on Earth doing things I enjoy.”

Can’t say I blame him, to be honest. I should probably be grateful, anyway. That’s one less person I need to worry about posing a threat in the arena. “Then I guess I’m lucky I enjoy working out,” is what I say. He doesn’t answer, so I pop the rest of the meat in my mouth and head downstairs.

When the elevator doors open and spit me out into the gym, I discover Blight isn’t the only one foregoing training. There’s maybe a dozen of us down here, and I’m barely early. I sidle up to Scarlett for the opening spiel because if I stand near Katniss I will be tempted to tease her, and that’d just be rude, considering. I stick with Scar after Atala releases us to train, because why not. While I am more open to broadening our alliance than Katniss is, Haymitch explicitly told us to make new friends, and I don’t much like following orders.

Scar and I move through several combat stations over the course of the morning. Archery, hand-to-hand, knife throwing. While I’m definitely a better shot, Scar is handy with a knife at a distance and in close. She schools the assistant she pairs off with to spar, repeatedly overpowering him and even taking him to the ground a couple times. As I’m admiring her latest takedown, my eyes skip over to the knot-tying station, where Katniss has been since training started. We’ve been sharing hungry glances all morning. But for the first time, she’s not alone. My jaw tightens as I observe Finnick Odair slinking up behind her and putting his arms around her to correct her latest knot. Forcing myself to look away, I engage my assistant again and take all my frustration out on him. He too ends up with his back on the ground, and Scar raises an impressed eyebrow.

Once we’ve had our fill of knife-throwing, Scar suggests we try something non-combat. My first instinct is weight-lifting, for obvious reasons, but then I spot the climbing nets over by the observation area the Gamemakers are set up in. “I haven’t climbed in a while,” I suggest.

“Good call,” she says, and we make our way over. When we arrive, she flashes a grin. “Race you?” I accept, of course, competitive as I am. Since childhood I’ve been a pretty good climber, and I’m quick, but Scar’s ridiculously long arms allow her to skip rungs. She finishes five feet ahead of me and lounges against the wall. When I reach the top, she gives me a cocky smile. “How kind of you to join me.”

“Hey, your arms are about as long as my legs,” I protest. “You have a bit of an advantage, you know.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Scar clicks her tongue with a slow, scolding shake of her head. Rolling my eyes, I look out over the gym. Katniss is chatting with the Threes over at the fire-making station, which I can only pray is not an attempt to find allies. My gaze lingers until I hear Scar ask, “You’re keeping it under wraps, huh?”

I shrug, sheepishly averting my eyes. “Our strategy is still up for discussion. It’s just easier to avoid her for now.”

“Was wondering why you were glued to my side.”

My head snaps up. I can’t quite tell if she’s joking or not, so I hold her gaze steadily as I state, “That’s not the only reason.”

“I know,” she says, eyes squinting into a smile. With a smooth wink, she observes, “It’s probably for the best. You’ve been eye boning her all morning. Can’t imagine what you’d do up close.”

I huff indignantly. “Hey, I am very capable of controlling myself.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am!” I insist, but she’s already laughing and beginning her descent.

Hustling to catch up, I scramble down the netting and drop to the mats from eight feet up, landing on my feet. Seeing my triumphant smirk as she joins me on the ground, Scar deadpans, “Big deal. I already know you’re quick to go down.”

My mouth drops open in shock, but I cover my genuine surprise with an exaggerated arch of my eyebrows. “Wow, that’s cold.” Glancing away from her satisfied grin, I notice one of the Gamemakers beyond her watching us, nodding in admiration at my show of agility. “At least someone’s impressed,” I say, nodding his direction. Scar turns and the Gamemaker gives her a subtle but friendly wave. Feeling her go rigid, I tip my head to get a better look at her face. “You know him?”

Shaking her head, she turns to face me. “Not really. Seen him around. He’s been a Gamemaker for like six years.”

I squint at this unsolicited fact. “I thought your talent was yoga, not trivia.”

“You learn a lot pretty quickly when you’re in the Capitol.” Smirking unconvincingly, she gives me a playful little shove. “Try to keep up.” One of the assistants makes a move toward us, primed to give a lecture, and Scar tips her head assertively. “Oh, don’t give me that look. We’re not fighting.”

Lunch is announced moments later, so we amble over to the dining room off of the gym. When we get there, several of the older victors are pulling all the tables into one long line. I make a face. “Ugh, does this mean we have to be sociable?”

“It won’t kill you,” teases Scar, nudging my ribs. She follows me nonetheless when I secure a seat at one of the ends after filling my plate at the food carts arranged around the edges of the room. Katniss and Peeta are eating a couple tables down, mostly interacting with Seeder and Chaff. I purposely pick a seat on the opposite side of the table from Katniss so I can sneak the occasional peek at her without being incredibly obvious about it.

I needn’t have worried about socializing. Nobody seems interested in chatting me up anyway. Not even Scar, surprisingly. She mostly keeps her eyes on her food as she pushes it around her plate. “Not hungry?” I ask.

Scar catches my eye and forces a teasing smile. “Didn’t do much to work up an appetite.”

“Hey, I resent that,” I scowl. “You’re getting a rematch later, by the way.”

“Whatever you say, shorty.” Eyes and mouth dropping, she continues to swirl idle patterns in her stew. Eventually she pushes her plate away altogether. “This food sucks. I’m gonna go order lunch from Martha 2.0.”

Heat dusts my cheeks, making me duck my head. “I’m impressed you remember that.”

“I remember everything,” she grins, reaching across the table to ruffle my hair. My blush darkens, and her smug little smirk as she stands tells me it’s obvious. “Catch you later.” She exits via a door at the back of the room, not looking back.

Unfortunately, with Scar gone I no longer have someone to distract me from Katniss. From staring at her, more specifically. I try not to, though not as hard as I should. The few moments of eye contact we get only make it worse, stoking my hunger and tempting me to walk right up to her and kiss her on the mouth. Not being allowed to might be what makes the prospect so alluring, but even so, I miss her badly. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep this up in the arena. Haymitch is insane, and I fully intend on telling him off over dinner. But for now I have to wait and not blow Katniss’s cover for her. It’s ultimately her choice to make.

Movement across the table catches my eye, and I glance over to find Finnick Odair standing across from me, reaching for the water pitcher by Scar’s discarded plate and the basket of rolls allotted to our table. After topping up his cup with water, he extends the pitcher my way and cocks a sassy eyebrow. “Need a refill? You’re looking pretty thirsty.” I snort under my breath despite my embarrassment at being caught staring. When I decline with a wave of my hand, he sits down in Scar’s chair. Sipping from his cup, Finnick watches me with unrelenting eyes. At least they’re pretty to look at, which makes our staring contest more enjoyable than it could be otherwise. “How did she get those scars?”

Finally blinking, I ask, “What scars?”

“The ones on her back,” he spells out, clearly not buying my clueless act. “What’d they arrest her for?”

“How should I know?” I demand, letting a hostile edge slip into my voice.

“You’re a Peacekeeper. I’m sure whatever it was, you all heard about it.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t broadcast.”

“Obviously,” he scoffs, “or else I’d have seen it.” I meant broadcast on one of the secure channels, but I don't feel like explaining that. He twitches his eyebrows and tosses a carrot stick into his big mouth. A few crunchy chews later, he remarks, “I’m surprised they’d do that to a victor, let alone the Capitol’s latest favorite.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I mutter to the table. “It was meant to intimidate the district.”

Penetrating stare back in full force, Finnick resumes the interrogation. “So they whipped her for no reason?”

“No.”

Finnick either can’t take a hint or doesn't care that I'm being short with him. Likely the latter. Sitting back, he grins triumphantly. “I thought you said you didn’t know why.”

“No I didn’t,” I tell him. I avoided the question, yes, but I also avoid lying when I can. Finnick doesn't care about the technicalities, his cocked eyebrow plainly stating he knows just how full of shit I am. Eager to get him off my back and eat my lunch in peace, I consider whether this is dangerous information. He’s right, I could know simply because I’m a Peacekeeper. It doesn't reveal anything about my relationship to Katniss, so it shouldn’t really matter if he knows I know. “Fine, whatever,” I concede. “It was for poaching. There was a crackdown and they searched her bag, caught her with game in the middle of a busy street. Decided to use her as an example.”

His smile turns smarmier and I almost vomit into the bread basket. “I thought you’d be harder to crack, Agent. Usually I have to bed people before they’ll spill secrets.”

I make a face. “Gross. Go away, Finnick.” Apparently satisfied, Finnick obeys, but not before swiping a couple rolls from the basket on his way back to Mags.

As annoying as he was, in Scar’s absence Finnick too was a welcome distraction from Katniss. Several more minutes of trying to avoid her gaze go by before I can no longer stand it. Pushing my chair back rather loudly, I stroll toward the bathrooms at the other end of the room. As I pass behind Seeder, I catch Katniss’s eye for a split second and incline my head toward the bathroom.

I’m alone in there for a couple minutes and I start to wonder if maybe she didn’t get the message. But when the door swings open, the look on Katniss’s face says my intentions came through loud and clear. Stepping up to where I’m leaning back against the counter, she fists the sides of my sweater and kisses me hard. She’s still wearing only the tank top, and I sneak a hand under it right away, the other sliding around her neck to cup the back of her head and deepen the kiss. Her hands quickly get busy too, fumbling with my sweater’s zipper as I walk her backwards toward the stalls.

Shoving Katniss through the nearest door, I detach only long enough to lock it behind me and spike my sweater on the floor before putting my hands on her hips and backing her up against the stall wall. Her eyes are wide and hungry, as they tend to get whenever I physically take charge. Not wanting to waste a moment of the limited time we have before people will start asking questions or we’re inevitably interrupted, I don’t tease her. She doesn’t need it, anyway. She’s already slick and warm, pulse pounding in her neck as I pepper kisses down one side.

Katniss groans at my touch and turns her knees out, further spreading her thighs. It takes mere seconds of soft rubbing for her pulse to migrate down and echo through my fingers. Though I don’t really need to, I briefly detour back to circle her hole and get my fingers wetter. A quiet whimper-moan breaks through her ragged breathing, tickling my ear and triggering a thrill that rushes down my spine and strikes between my legs. She repeats the sound when I pull my fingers back to glide over her swollen clit, and the sensations together make my own clit ache and my underwear flood. Mesmerized by the feeling, I stroke her back and forth, back and forth. “God, you feel amazing.”

She gasps at my words, only aggravating my need. This is my promised payback, but I can’t go back out there without at least some release. Moving my left hand from her hip, I press against my clit through my clothes, providing a little pressure to take the edge off. I’ve barely gotten any relief before Katniss pulls my hand away, placing it on her breast. Not wanting to be greedy, I suck it up and grope her instead, but her hand mercifully slides into my pants to take over.

Groaning into her shoulder, I press down on her hand but force myself to focus on my own, zeroing in on the clicking noise it’s making. Katniss is having more and more trouble keeping quiet, already so close. I speed up as she grinds against my hand, panting into her palm as she tries to muffle her sounds of pleasure. Her arm is slung tight around my neck, keeping us so close I can feel both our forearms moving between our bodies. As her gasps and moans continue to escalate, I block out everything else and put all my effort into going as fast and hard as I can. I’m rewarded with a sudden jerk of her hips and a strangled noise. With a hard pulse under my fingers, followed by a series of softer ones as I bring her down. When she regains enough control to remember what she was doing to me, I slow further, preparing to pull out.

“Don’t stop,” whispers Katniss, still clinging tight with her left arm.

My mouth quirks into a grin against her neck. “You need more, Katniss?” She nods and whimpers, the quivering in her legs echoing up into her hips as I rub my entire hand back and forth over her pussy. The rush of power is intoxicating, deepening my voice into a low burr. “You need to come again?” Another nod makes me stop altogether. When she opens her eyes in confusion, I stare into them hard. “Use your words.”

Katniss sighs in a way that’s meant to read as exasperation, but from the way her eyes roll back instead of to the side, I can tell the dominant move is having the intended effect. “Yes. Please.”

“Good girl,” I praise her, softly resuming the motion. “Manners can go a long way.”

“Yeah, you’d know all about that,” snorts Katniss. I growl in her ear and jam a finger deep inside her, making her jerk in surprise. “Fuck,” she hisses. The sounds she proceeds to make communicate pleasure, yes, but also frustration. As much as I’d like to draw that out to teach her a lesson, we’ve already been here a few minutes and I know we’re running out of time. The angle is awkward for my thumb in such close quarters, so I bring in my left hand to take over on the outside. Squeezing my finger, Katniss groans her approval. She’s having a hard time focusing enough to get her own hand to work, but I applaud the effort.

This interaction has reminded me just how much Katniss likes dirty talk, so I decide to take advantage and speed things up. Nibbling on her earlobe, I give it a little tug and whisper, “I’ve missed your fingers, baby.” She pushes out an aroused breath and rubs me harder, pushing me closer to the edge. It won’t take much, not after what we’ve done already. Hoping she’s not far behind, I leave my mouth by her ear and let out some tiny moans. She echoes them back to me, so it must be working. It’s not like I have to embellish much. Her fingers truly are amazing, producing an addictive sensation between my legs and sending pleasure radiating out through my entire body. I don’t even have to consciously continue, those noises start coming out on their own as the beginnings of an orgasm stir in my stomach. “Katniss, I’m gonna come,” I breathe. “I’m gonna come so hard.”

My legs are shaking, and it’s a good thing she’s clinging to me seeing as both my hands are occupied. She groans at my words, giving a final push to make them come true. But I don’t want to leave her hanging, so I try to hold off until I can get her there too. Pulling against her inner wall, I press her tighter against the metal to hold her in place and get the most out of my left hand. More sexy noises pop out of her throat, and my clit betrays me by exploding with pleasure despite my efforts to wait. But the feeling of my hips bucking and body folding at the waist and the quiet but sustained moan into her chest are enough to bring her to the edge. Grabbing my wrist, she rubs my hand against herself for a few short seconds until her walls clench and she soaks my fingers with a gasp, her grip cutting off the circulation to my hand.

As her fingers slowly relax, I chuckle in her ear. “That was fucking hot.”

“Move,” says Katniss.

I blink. “What?”

“I actually do need to pee,” she explains, trying to wriggle by me. I purposely block her path a couple seconds longer before stepping aside with a grin.

As she plops down on the toilet, I raid the toilet paper dispenser and start the process of cleaning up my body and underwear. She follows my lead. It takes a little while, probably thanks to the hours of eye sex foreplay in the gym. “Should’ve brought a change of underwear,” I remark, pitching the wad of cum and paper through her legs and into the bowl.

“Nothing’s stopping you from going upstairs.” Wiping the remaining residue from her own underwear, she shrugs. “I'll survive.”

Finding my sweater on the floor, I shrug it back on. “Shy bladder?”

Katniss narrows her eyes incredulously. “Could you get your parts to work right away after that?”

Despite my efforts to keep a straight face, a snicker pops out. “Fair point.”

When I step out to wash my hands, the sound of running water seems to help get her going. Joining me by the sinks afterward, she takes an extra minute to splash cold water on her flushed cheeks and wipe the sweat from her chest and neck with a wet paper towel. Just as she’s smoothing her hair and confirming she looks presentable, I circle an arm around her hips and pull her into one more kiss. Though she reciprocates fervidly, Katniss pulls away before we can get too into it, wagging a finger as she grabs the door handle.

Despite the fact that I stay a minute longer to stagger our exits, Finnick flashes me a humongous grin as I re-enter the dining room. I flip him off but try not to show how much his observations and suspicions worry me. Actually, worry isn’t quite the word. I’d be happy to claim Katniss as my own in front of all of these people, were I allowed. But I don’t like being read. Especially not by people who are assholes about their perceptiveness.

My concerns about Finnick take a backseat as the afternoon rolls on and Scar does not return. It’s fine, I train by myself and make small talk with the victors, though most of them seem hesitant to converse with me. Like I said to Katniss, I don’t need a babysitter. But skipping training is not like Scar, and her weird demeanor before she left is eating at me. Around 2:30 I decide to go check on her. Stepping off the elevator on floor two, I call out, “Beanstalk? You up here?” I tiptoe across the living area, contrasting the volume and confidence in my voice. I’m honestly a bit scared of what I might find. “I’m still waiting for that rematch!”

“In here,” comes a mumble from the TV room. It sounds vaguely like Scar’s voice, but groggy and hoarse. When I peek my head in the room, my fears are confirmed. Scar is slumped on one of the couches with a bottle in her hand, which I know from personal experience is a very bad sign. Drinking hard liquor straight out of a bottle, and alone no less. The broken bottle across the room does nothing to ease my concern.

Making Scar laugh has always been my in with her, so by default I lead with humor. “What kind of Career skips out on training to get drunk?” I ask as I enter the room. Kicking her foot teasingly, I gasp into my palm. “What would Lyme say?”

“Lyme said to do whatever I want,” retorts Scar. “Besides, I don't care what she says. She’s not the one about to go back in the arena.”

The bitterness in her tone surprises me. “That was your choice.”

“So is this,” she says, lifting the bottle. I watch her swallow another couple glugs before snatching it away and setting it on the coffee table with finality. Anger burns behind her eyes, but I don't flinch. I’m done beating around the bush. She's going to give me some goddamn answers.

“Why didn’t you let Enobaria volunteer for you?” I demand. “I remember what you said, how you wake up terrified at night. How you dream about their faces. Why would you want to relive that?” Scar stares through the wall, her dead expression undermined only by the single tear rolling down her cheek. Watching as it passes her nose, I get a sudden headrush that both obscures and clarifies my thoughts. “Wait, do you just…” It's the lightheadedness as much as the intimacy of the moment that makes me ease myself down onto the couch. “Do you want to die? Is that what this is about?”

Still avoiding my gaze, Scar swallows. “It’s not that I want to die. But something has to change.” Her lower lips quivers conspicuously, forecasting the change in her voice. “I can’t go on living the way I was any longer, Jo.”

Reaching out for her, I start, “Scar-” Her knee jerks away the second my fingers make contact, eyes going wide with a sharp gasp. My eyebrows knit as I retract my hand. “Hey, are you okay?” Looking away again, she digs her nails into her thighs and tries to get her breathing under control. The posture and panic triggers something inside of me, and suddenly I know. I’ve felt that way. I saw that same body language on a coal train last May. A dangerous kind of rage fills my chest, darkening my face and voice. “What did they do to you?”

Shuddering, she draws her knees into her chest. “I can’t… I can’t talk about-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” I tell her, purposely softening my tone. The righteous anger vindicates some people, but if it's not working for Scar I can't very well force my own emotional state on her. I had to calm Josh down after I told him about Uncle Leo, and it wasn’t fair. I was juggling enough feelings already without taking his on. “Can I touch you?” Scar nods vigorously into her knees, spilling more tears onto her cheeks. The pain in my chest radiates up into my throat, forcing me to swallow.

“Come here,” I say, though it's me who does all the moving, shuffling closer to wrap my arms around her shins and back. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I rest my cheek on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to D7P, my tireless beta. And to you readers for all the comments/reviews last chapter. So happy to hear everyone is still enjoying this story. See you all in 2018! <3


	25. Burn

Deciding I need time to process, I take the stairwell down to the gym after I manage to calm Scar down and get some food in her. I said I could stay, but she insisted I should get back to training. She declined to join me, though. My mind is numb as I descend the stairs, feet moving robotically. Needless to say, no processing gets done.

The stairwell spits me back out into the basement dining room where we ate lunch, now deserted. When I cross the threshold into the gym and see the Gamemakers sitting there eating their fancy food and judging us on our murder skills, my simmering rage boils over. It feels like the heat burning my cheeks is frying my brain, blinding me as I storm over to the axe station.

Selecting a large battle axe from the racks of weapons on the training platform, I wave off the instructor’s offer of assistance and start taking out my fury on the the air around me. Cutting it with slices and dramatic swoops, releasing loud grunts with every chop, I try to lose myself in the movements. But try as I might, I can’t banish what troubles me from my mind.

When Scar said she wanted to stay upstairs, claiming she didn't feel like training, I foolishly pressed for details. Details I wasn’t ready for.

“As soon as you pointed that guy out, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time,” she admitted. Her jaw twitched. “I hate his fucking eyes.”

Blood draining from my head, I sank back into the cushions. “He’s one of them.”

“He was the first. On my Victory Tour. He paid a lot of money to pop my cherry.” Chuckling sardonically, she clarified, “It was long gone, but he didn’t know that. He’s a regular now, thinks we have a connection.” She dismissed this with a wave. “He spends a lot of our time talking, which is actually worse. I’d rather take an hour or two of silent plowing than have to pretend to care about his life or make things up to tell him about mine. Or make eye contact during _gentle lovemaking_.” Her foot shot out as she sneered those words, knocking the coffee table on its side.

Barely able to contain my own rage, I forced my voice to stay even as I asked, “Do they make you fuck all the Gamemakers?”

“It’s not just Gamemakers. Anyone who wants to and can afford the steep price.” Taking a pull from her bottle, which I’d long since returned to her, she added, “But yes, some of them. And lots of Capitol officials.”

Dots began to connect in my brain, my mouth slipping open in horror. “Oh my god, were these your business trips?” She took another sip, avoiding my gaze. “Scar, why didn’t you say anything?”

“What good would it have done?” she snapped. “Besides, I couldn't risk my mom finding out. It would destroy her, knowing I have to fuck a bunch of strangers just to keep her and my brothers alive.” She shook her head with an ironic snort. “You know, I went into the program to help keep them alive. My dad died in that same mine collapse where she got hurt. Lionel was old enough to work a bit after school, keep us from starving. But I was barely twelve. I was already taking out tesserae, so all I could do to feel useful was try to get rich via the Games. So Mom wouldn't have worry about anything again for the rest of her life.”

I blinked, trying to take all this in. She’d never been much of one for talking about her personal life, especially her dad. I’d assumed he was abusive or left them or something. Apparently, I don't have very high standards for fathers. My attention was drawn back to Scar as she cringed into her palm. Pinching the skin between her eyes, she abruptly smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “God, I was so stupid!”

“You didn't know,” I said, gently but firmly taking her hand before she could do more damage.

“If I don't die here, I’m going to do something to get them killed,” said Scar, sending a chill through my bones. “It's better this way.”

Better this way. Is it better to die than to fuck who President Snow says, marry who he says? I’m starting to grasp Katniss’s insistence on dropping the act before she dies. What’s the point of living when your life is not your own?

With a final grunt, I slam the axe into the training platform, lodging it in the wooden surface. The exercise leaves me heaving but is not enough to purge the anger from my blood. So I grab a couple of throwing axes and pitch them into two of the target dummies, pushing out noises halfway between grunts and battle cries. The visual of the split heads is at least a little satisfying, and I stand there staring for a moment before a wave of fatigue and dizziness hits me, forcing me to sink into a squat to avoid keeling over. Not wanting to appear weak, I retie my shoes as an excuse to be down there while I try to calm myself. I have little to no success. As I’m finishing with the second shoe, I sense someone approaching and look up.

Katniss is about ten feet away, edging closer with a cocked eyebrow. Even upon making it to my side, she hesitates a little longer. “...Are you okay?” she finally asks.

“No,” I force through gritted teeth.

Her mouth twitches sympathetically. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now. Not here.”

“Okay,” she says, unruffled, and I’m able to relax just a little. One of the things I most appreciate about Katniss is how terse answers don’t faze or offend her. It would be pretty hypocritical if they did. Peeking over her shoulder, she remarks, “I think you’re scaring the Gamemakers.”

“Good,” I snap. “They’re lucky they still have their heads.”

Her brow creases in concern. “Hey,” she murmurs, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. I almost cover it with mine to communicate that I still appreciate her failed attempt at comfort, but then I remember we’re not supposed to know each other. Katniss seems to remember at the same time, frowning as she draws back her hand.

“Agent Mason, you are one hell of an axe thrower,” Finnick’s voice rings out from behind Katniss. She turns at the sound, allowing me a better view of the cocky victor as he struts right up to us, sporting a huge grin. “Got me quaking in my boots.”

“What do you want?” I growl, getting to my feet.

“Some lessons, obviously. You’re much better than the instructor. Want to trade? I specialize in tridents, or knots and fishing if you want non-combat.” Dragging his eyes over to Katniss and back to me, he grins smugly. “I’d offer lessons with the ladies, but you clearly don’t need any help in that department.”

So done with his bullshit, with all of this bullshit, I step into a hard shove that throws him off balance. “Fuck off, Finnick.”

Stepping back, he raises his hands in surrender. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says, appearing genuinely surprised at my outburst.

“Seven female,” snaps a harsh feminine voice. Atala is marching our way, primed to lay down the law. I gulp instinctively as the tall and intimidating woman reaches our group, eyes locked on me. “No fighting with the other tributes. You just forfeited your last hour of training today.”

It takes me a second to grasp what she means, and when I do my eyes automatically burn, wanting to tear up. Forcing my face to stay neutral, I walk to the elevators with only a flippant, “Whatever.”

Back on floor twelve, I decide to follow Scar’s lead and drown my emotions in alcohol. After raiding the chilled portion of the bar, I down two beers in the shower so I am properly buzzed by the time I’m dressed in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. I need to bring some of the clothes fitted to me up here if I intend to stay, which I fully do despite Haymitch’s likely protests. I'm back at the bar again, weighing the merits of getting sauced versus obliterated, when one of the elevators opens and the man himself emerges. Of course, I have my hands all over the stash that he likely considers his, one more reason for him to hate me.

Haymitch doesn't react, casually strolling over to join me. Digging in the back of the hard liquor cupboard, he chances a look at my flaming eyes and clenched jaw. “Still smarting from this morning?”

“Please,” I scoff, “my feelings aren't hurt that easily.” Haymitch retrieves a bottle of something dark brown and takes a swig, then silently offers it to me. My face puckers just from the smell. “That’s vile. Way worse than Ripper’s shit.”

Haymitch smirks and fishes out a bottle of an electric blue concoction. “This may be more to your feminine tastes.”

I shoot him a warning glare but give it a try anyway. It's similarly strong, but overwhelmingly sweet. Making a face, I shake my head and put it back. “That’ll give me a killer hangover.”

“Liquor’s bound to be disgusting on the way down or up. Take your pick.”

Rolling my eyes, I inform him, “I can handle my liquor. Just need to find a happy medium.”

As I resume digging in the bar, he inquires, “What's got you so intent on getting shitfaced in the middle of the afternoon, anyway?”

“What do you care?”

“I don't. Not about you, anyway.” Tipping his head into my line of sight, he presses, “Don't suppose it's a lovers’ quarrel?”

I snort, stubbornly staring into the cupboard and pretending to read labels. “You’d like that, wouldn't you?”

“No,” he states decisively. That turns my head. “Katniss fared very badly after you were taken. She can't go into the arena like that. She’d be dead in five minutes.”

It's in this moment, over a bottle of glorified paint thinner, that I come to understand how badly I have misjudged Haymitch. My bitterness over his apparent neglect last year ran deep, preventing me from acknowledging it even when I should have. Like when he risked his life to intervene in the Square, putting my polite protest to shame. He can be an intolerable ass at times, but he truly cares about Katniss. As much indifference as we hold toward each other, we have this much in common.

“Katniss is fine,” I mumble. Sensing there's more to the story, Haymitch raises an eyebrow. And I find myself surprisingly inclined to give it to him. Who else could I open up to, after all? This isn't something I can confide in Katniss about. Because she intensely dislikes Scar, yes, but also because I have a feeling it would disturb her greatly. It disturbed me, and I'm no stranger to the topic. But Haymitch is already as jaded and cynical as they come. And chances are, he already knows. So I tell him, “I just had a very interesting conversation with Scarlett Caskey.” From the way Haymitch glances away and takes a long pull of brake fluid, I can tell there's no need to explain. My heart sinks. “Does that happen to all of you?”

“Not Katniss, if that’s why you’re asking.”

“I realize that,” I snark. “It wouldn’t fit with ‘the narrative’ the Capitol wants.”

Snorting inwardly, Haymitch admits, “Anyone who’s considered attractive enough.” There’s more to that confession than meets the eye. He was quite handsome, back in the day. Before the bottle took him in its clutches. Reading my face, Haymitch waves me off and clarifies, “Not me. They foolishly killed all my collateral after my Games because of how I won it. Had no lives left to threaten me with.”

My brow furrows. “What’s wrong with how you won? It was brilliant.”

“I used their own arena design against them, made them feel foolish.”

“So? That’s not your fault.”

“They don’t take kindly to tributes not winning the way they want them to.” He sweeps a hand around, indicating our surroundings. “As you may have noticed.”

Anger welling up inside me again, I snatch the bottle from Haymitch and take a glug, burning my throat to prove just how pissed I am. Swallowing with a grimace, I slam the bottle down on the counter. “I hate these sons of bitches.”

Haymitch raises his eyebrows. “Really? Last I checked, you work for them.”

“Last I checked, I quit to come protect your precious Mockingjay,” I spit. “Cut me a little slack.” Something changes in Haymitch’s face as I say that. Interpreting his funny look as incredulity, I turn away and lean back against the bar, staring out the nearest window. “I was a different person when I enlisted,” I mutter. “And even then, I didn’t know how fucked up everything is.”

A tense moment passes before Haymitch gets a grip on my elbow and nods at the nearby balcony. “Let’s get you some air. Let you calm down before you say something you regret,” he says, pointedly flicking his eyes from side to side as he tugs me that way.

Digging my heels in at the threshold, I eye him distrustfully. “Are you going to throw me off?”

“As much fun as that sounds, there’s a forcefield like the one from my Games,” he says. “It’d throw you back up.” I inch out to join him on the balcony, shutting the door behind us, and he waves me over to the railing. Leaning into the wind, he asks, “You know what the Mockingjay means in the districts, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“So you know keeping Katniss alive is essential to the rebellion,” he concludes. I nod, and he gives me a very serious look. “Are you sure that’s something you want to support?”

“Are you kidding?" I scoff. “This place can burn.” Haymitch stares curiously at my outburst, and that only sets me off more. “What? They have no business raping my friend and turning my girlfriend into some kind of giggly celebrity murder bride. A hetero one, at that. Katniss is a person, a person with thoughts and feelings of her own, and these freaks are using her like that doesn’t even matter.” Kicking at the deck, I grumble, “I guess it doesn’t. She’ll be dead in a week, anyway.”

“No, she won’t,” says Haymitch. Observing my confusion, he hesitates a second before revealing, “There’s a plan to get her out, and hopefully at least some of the other victors too.” He leans a little closer and adds in an enticing tone, “Maybe even you, if you help us.”

His need to sweeten the pot offends me, to be quite honest. “Of course I’ll help,” I snap. “I’d do anything to keep Katniss safe.”

“Good,” states Haymitch. “Then I need you to not tell her about this.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she’s being watched very closely, and she’s a terrible actor. She could give something away. Better to let her just focus on the Games. Same goes for Peeta.”

My eyelids flutter in disbelief. “So you want my help manipulating my girlfriend. Am I understanding this correctly?”

“Yes,” he answers far too matter-of-factly. “The first thing I need from you is to convince her to keep acting in love with Peeta, even if the Games go on as scheduled.”

Exasperated, I throw a hand in the air. “The Gamemakers will be gunning for her no matter who she’s kissing. Like she said, no amount of sponsorship will save her.”

“No, but it will help keep you all alive until help arrives,” he counters. “But that’s not the point.”

Tipping my head, I drawl, “Then what is the point, oh wise mentor?”

“You understand how important Katniss’s image is to the rebellion,” Haymitch recounts.

“Obviously. So why keep up the star-crossed lovers charade? Snow was trying to use that to wreck her rebellious image by making the whole thing about love.”

“The love story is mostly to maintain our support in the Capitol,” explains Haymitch. He holds my gaze meaningfully. “But if the districts are looking at them, at least they aren't looking at you.”

The weight of what he’s saying doesn’t hit me like a ton of bricks, as one might say. No, it slowly crushes me, the reminder of what I represent heavy on my conscience. “I’d ruin her image.”

“Exactly. Her spouting that pro-Capitol stuff on tour was enough to make some people doubt her, even hate her,” says Haymitch. “If they find out she’s been involved with a Peacekeeper, it’ll erode too much support for the rebels. We can’t afford to lose this momentum.”

A sudden wave of fear makes me tense up. “Would they abort the rescue mission if word got out?”

Haymitch considers this for only a second or two before concluding, “I doubt it. Katniss would undoubtedly still have some influence and, though it’s not ideal, Peeta and Finnick could be useful mouthpieces. Katniss isn’t the only one Snow wanted to get rid of with this Quell.”

“Finnick,” I repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes, that’s the other thing. I need you to help her play nicely with others, not kill the people we need to get her out.”

My eyes narrow. “Who all is involved? Chaff and Seeder, I presume?”

“I’m not telling you any more than you need to know,” he says, looking at me as though I’m crazy. “Just don’t target District 3. And preferably not Finnick, either. He’s a strong fighter and he’s sympathetic to both the districts and Capitol.”

Mulling over everything he’s said, I bob my head in agreement. “Okay.”

“So I can count on your help?” he presses.

It’s only now that it dawns on me how much Haymitch needs my help. How he needs to get me on his side or else risk Katniss blowing the whole thing in one way or another. I can make demands. Smiling inwardly in relief, I reply, “On one condition.”

Haymitch rolls his eyes. “There’s always something with you, isn’t there?” When I don’t answer, he gestures for me to continue. “Well, go ahead.”

“Scarlett is let into the alliance.”

Haymitch shoots that down immediately with a hard shake of his head. “No. I don’t care if you’re friends, we can’t risk telling anyone from Two.”

“I’m from Two,” I remind him, eyes narrowing into slits. “We’re not all terrible people.”

“I’m telling you this because I need you, not because I trust you,” Haymitch informs me. Those words are like a full-palm slap to the face, and he immediately follows it up with a vicious backhand. “All I trust is that the promise of saving Katniss’s life is incentive enough for you not to rat on us.”

Still reeling from his words, I struggle to come up with some of my own. “Firstly, I’m no snitch,” I snarl. “Fuck you. Secondly, we don’t need to tell Scar.” When Haymitch raises an eyebrow, I explain, “She wants to be allied with me, and if I can draw her away from the Career pack, there’s only four of them left - three, assuming Mags is splitting with Finnick - and we have much better odds of keeping Katniss alive until the rescue.” Spying a shadow of doubt in his face, I press on. “She’s valuable. She’s young and strong and she trained as a Career. Plus she’s popular with sponsors.”

Haymitch consents with a wave of his hand. “Fine. But you can’t tell her a thing either. And you have to sell it to Katniss as your idea.”

“I can be very persuasive,” I assure him, batting my eyelashes.

He chuckles darkly, looking me over from head to toe. “I’m sure.”

***

Trying to convince Katniss to keep up the act that caused me to leave her ever so briefly is about as appealing as jamming a knife under my own ribs. It's also just as difficult to make myself do. I rehearse my spiel while she's in the shower, fighting the urge to vomit the entire time. One thing that makes the task marginally easier is how well I know Katniss and how to get through to her. Logic, for one, but more importantly the wellbeing of someone she cares about. My argument is simple: If the Games go on, we’ll get more sponsor gifts if she keeps playing up the romance. More supplies to keep us and ultimately Peeta alive.

“You don’t have to make out with him or whatever,” I backtrack at her dismayed expression. “Just love him as a friend, like you do, and don’t give them any reason to think it’s over. Or that you’re with someone else.”

“I thought you would want to be together in there,” she protests with a bewildered blink.

“I do,” I declare, resting a hand on her thigh. “I really, really do. But you were worried I would distract you from your final mission of saving Peeta, and I'm trying not to.”

“Maybe I kind of want you to,” she admits.

“No you don’t,” I state. “It's not me you’re trying to save.”

Katniss blinks up sharply. “I don't want you to die either, Johanna.”

“And I don't want you to die. But we don't always get what we want, do we?” Katniss snorts and gives her head a small but emphatic shake. “I didn’t come here to be saved, or even to save you. I came to spend time together and die by your side. So I might as well help you save Peeta, and I think this is the best way.”

“I guess.” Mouth twitching glumly, she reaches into her shirt and pulls out the dog tags, runs her thumb over them. “Guess these can’t be my token if we decide to play it cool.”

“You don’t need them. You’ll be bringing me in with you for real now.” Pinching her chin affectionately, I tip it up and remind her, “Besides, you need your pin. You’re the Mockingjay.”

“I just want to be Katniss,” she mumbles, eyes falling to the mattress. They flick up again as she pronounces, “And Katniss is in love with a girl.”

That statement knocks a little bit of air from my lungs. I don’t know whether to be more shocked or flattered at the implications. “Is it important to you? People knowing that?” Katniss averts her eyes again and I give her knee a tiny squeeze. “I thought you said it wasn’t anybody’s business.”

“It isn’t their business,” she mutters. “I just wish they’d stop assuming things about me.”

“I feel you.” Do I ever. Lying back, I give her arm a gentle tug. “C’mere.” She’s already crawling over, nestling into my side to tuck her head under my chin. Content in the moment, I hold her silently until I feel tears dripping onto the hollow of my throat. Ducking my chin, I squint at her in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I missed you so much,” she whispers. Fisting my shirt, she pauses to sniffle. “And now I’m going to lose you all over again.”

Refraining from contradicting her is difficult, but I bite my tongue and keep my eyes on the prize. Making sure the rescue goes off without a hitch. “Hopefully we’ll die at roughly the same time.”

“Even before that,” she says, rolling to rest her chin on my chest and look me straight on. “There’s nowhere to hide in the arena. Like you said, I want to spend my last days with you. But I can’t. It’ll be painful to be there with you and not be able to touch you, kiss you, sleep with you.” My lips quirk at her phrasing, and she clarifies, “I mean sleep with like sleep together.” I wink and she rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh, grow up.”

Stifling a chuckle, I point out, “At least we’re used to hiding things in public.”

“I wish we didn’t have to be,” mutters Katniss.

“Yeah, me too.” Her inquisitive look sets me on edge, so I deflect, “Look, if you’ve decided dying authentically is more important to you than saving Peeta’s life, I’m all for it.”

Katniss huffs. “Don’t be a jackass.”

We lie there cuddling until we’re summoned for dinner, where Haymitch greets us with some news. “So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally,” he tells Katniss. “I know it can't be your sunny personality.”

“They saw her shoot,” Peeta informs him with a proud smile.

“Oh, I missed a show?” I inquire, a facetious smirk covering my disappointment. But apparently not very well.

“It’s your own fault for getting kicked out,” says Katniss. “Why were you so mad at Finnick, anyway?”

Feeling Haymitch’s eyes on me, I blink away from them both. “Long story.”

Clearing his throat, Haymitch restates, “Well, sweetheart, you’ve got your pick of the litter. Anyone catch your eye on day one?”

Katniss shifts in her seat. “I want Mags and District 3.”

I snort and she gives me a look, but I can’t really help my amusement. Katniss never fails to pick up strays and make her life more difficult. This is good news for Haymitch’s plan, of course. He wants Three anyway, and her affection for Mags could make teaming with Finnick easier. Haymitch gives nothing away, feigning his usual aggravation. “Of course you do.” He sighs and orders a bottle of wine. “I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind.”

In the silence that follows, Effie gives me a smile that’s warm, if a little forced. “So, how did you two meet?” There’s no secrets on this floor. Even if Haymitch didn’t explain my presence to Effie this morning, Katniss and I walked out of her room holding hands not two minutes ago. Everyone from the stylists to the Avoxes knows we’re together, and I’m loving it.

Leaning back, I loop a casual arm around Katniss’s shoulders. “I arrested her in the woods.”

Effie presses a napkin to her lips. “Oh dear.”

Katniss chuckles and nuzzles into my shoulder and I lay a kiss on her crown, idly playing with her hair. No one comments on the PDA, not even Haymitch.

After dinner, Katniss fulfills her promise to show me the roof. The crisp evening air hits me when we step out of the dome, making me smile. I’ve missed being outdoors these past couple days. But what really gets my attention is the breathtaking view. People the size of ants walking the streets below us, city lights shining brighter than stars. Smiling my appreciation at Katniss, I notice she’s staring straight out into the darkness, not down at the city. “What’re you looking at?”

“There’s a forcefield up here to keep us from jumping to our deaths,” she explains. “Just checking to see if it’s visible.”

I blink. “Why would it be visible?”

Katniss turns with a mischievous smile. “Remember how I got my eleven last year?”

That brings a smirk to my lips. For how much Katniss claimed her angry outbursts during our first meeting were an aberration, that anecdote did little to convince me. “Uh huh.”

“There’s a force field now between us and the Gamemakers. The Threes showed it to me.” Another moment of intense peering later, she points a triumphant finger at a spot a bit down and to her right. “There.” It takes me a moment, but I find it. A square patch of the field appears to be vibrating, making the lights behind it twinkle like stars. “They said that’s its weak spot.”

Deciding now is as good a time as any to make my pitch for Scar, I ask, “Is that how they caught your attention?” She gives me a wary glance over her shoulder and I tip my head condescendingly. “You know the point of allies is to keep us alive, right?”

“They were the only remotely tolerable people down there,” she says, looking out over the city once again.

“You’re really not that pleasant either, Katniss,” I remark. “That’s not the point.”

“So you’d rather I team with your tall friend?” she asks flatly. “Is that it?”

“If you’re going to add a bunch of liabilities to our group, then absolutely. Even if not, she’s a formidable fighter and she’s my friend. I can easily get her on our side. You’d be crazy not to take advantage of that.” Katniss turns her head enough to shoot me a glare. “Come on,” I insist, “you didn’t even try talking to her.”

“I don’t need to.”

Planting a hand on my hip, I remind her, “I was a Career candidate too, as you know so very well. And Scarlett’s a better person than I am.” Katniss scoffs, which only serves to aggravate me further. “She is! As a wise woman once told me, we’re all products of our environment. She’s a killer because that’s what her society told her was the most worthwhile thing she could do with her life. Kinda like how you’re an asshole because your life sucks.” Obviously there’s more to that story, but I have a feeling Scar wouldn't appreciate me spilling intimate details of her life to other tributes.

Catching my eye again, Katniss spits, “At least I don’t kill people for fun.”

“Other than Clove,” I retort. Her face pales and I know I’ve crossed a line. Not that it isn’t mine to cross, more than anyone else’s. I barely let up. “Look, I need you to get over this, get off your high fucking horse and accept that she can help us stay alive in there. Even if she wasn’t any help, it’s one less Career gunning for us. Do you really want to go up against Scar _and_ Brutus?”

“I can’t work with someone I can’t trust,” she argues.

“Well then you’re going to die real quick in there, Everdeen,” I counter. “I’m a good fighter but you’re right, I haven’t done this before. Peeta and I, we’re not enough.”

Shaking her head, Katniss insists, “If we team up, she’ll kill me the first chance she gets.”

“No, she won’t. I know you’ve been watching tapes. She’s a loyal ally, remember?” Katniss can’t deny that. Scar had the chance to hit the boy from Four with a knife in the back while he was killing their last opponent. Instead, she waited until they could square off honorably. Katniss looks away but doesn’t concede any ground, so I change tactics. “Besides, she likes you.”

Katniss blinks in surprise. “Likes me?”

“Yeah, she’s a total fangirl. Thinks you’re the coolest.” I crack a grin. “If anyone, she’ll kill Peeta. Which, no offense, but he’s kind of the weak link.”

Katniss’s eyes narrow. “He’s also one of the two people I’m rooting for to get out of there alive.”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” I assure her, jostling her shoulder with mine. “Come on, please. Trust me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The familiar refrain makes me chuckle. “At some point, you’re gonna have to start making some decisions.”

Leaning harder on the railing, Katniss sullenly drags her eyes across the horizon. “These decisions are never mine, Johanna.”

My heart constricts in my chest and I automatically wrap an arm around her back. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I try to swallow my guilt for colluding with Haymitch. He’s right about Katniss being a bad actor. It’s one of the few ways in which she’s a liability. That and her temper and her poor taste in allies.

Shortly after we return downstairs, Haymitch interrupts our makeout session with another knock and abrupt order. “You two. Get out here, now.”

Rolling off of Katniss, I flop on my back and groan. “Your mentor needs to stop cockblocking us.” Katniss sighs and slides off the bed, extending a hand to pull me to my feet. “Why, thank you,” I croon, batting my eyelashes. “Such a gentleman.” She rolls her eyes and tugs me toward the door without a word.

Haymitch beckons us silently from where he stands at the entrance to the TV room, pointing inside when we get close. I’m sort of expecting an intervention of some kind, but Effie and the stylists aren’t waiting for us, their eyes are all glued to the screen. The reporter or whoever is saying something about District 2, narrating over some shots of mountains. I’m about to ask Haymitch why the hell he interrupted us for a fucking nature documentary when the shot changes. All my muscles tense as I find myself staring into my father’s eyes.

“Being in the Games was all Johanna wanted for years,” he says. “She was planning to volunteer last summer, but she got a terrible injury in the year leading up to it and the doctors said it wouldn’t heal in time. It was her last year of eligibility, so she joined the Peacekeepers instead.”

“Is that your dad?” asks Katniss, resting a hand on the small of my back. I nod mutely as the camera zooms out a bit, revealing my mother standing beside him.

“I was proud, of course, when she enlisted,” he continues. “We come from a long line of Peacekeepers, and I served several years myself. In this family we are honored to serve alongside our Capitol brothers and sisters in the forces, help keep their city and our nation safe. But when I saw Johanna step on that stage, I can honestly say I’ve never been more proud of our little girl.”

“She was heartbroken,” my mother adds. “Her goal in life was to bring honor to her family and district, and glory to the Capitol. She’s done that already by serving her country, but she wanted something bigger.” Mom quirks her lips in an ironic smile. “Wrong district, now, but we’re thrilled all the same that she’s getting her chance.” She blows a kiss at the camera. “We love you, sweetie! We’re rooting for you!”

The shot returns to the studio, where a panel of talking heads are primed to break down the story of the Peacekeeper turned tribute. Career turned Peacekeeper turned tribute, that is. That’s even worse. I’m not a stupid person from the Capitol anymore. Now I’m a traitor to everyone in the districts.

***

On Haymitch’s orders, the first thing I do the next morning (after Katniss) is make amends with Finnick. Begrudgingly. Marching up to him at the hammock station, without even a greeting I say, “I shouldn’t have shoved you yesterday. I was upset about something else and I took it out on you.”

Finnick, for his part, continues his nosy ways. “Something else?”

I’m about to say it’s none of his fucking business. But when that thought crosses my mind, another comes swiftly on its heels, making me frown. It kind of is his business. What happened to Scar must have happened to him. “Yeah,” I stammer. Quickly recovering, I add, “Not that you didn’t deserve it. You’ve been nothing but annoying since the moment I met you.”

“Is this meant to be an apology?” asks Finnick, cocking a sassy eyebrow.

“No. I’m not sorry. But Haymitch said I have to play nice with you, so here we are.”

Finnick squints. “Is that so?”

“Hasn’t he told you yet? We’re allies now. Or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says, stepping back to give me a once-over. “Whatever the case, I’m glad to hear we’ll have your support,” he adds, his tone pleasantly surprised. I can't help taking it as an insult to my character or intelligence.

“I’m not from here,” I lobby in my own defense. “You know that if you watch the news. I didn't know what things are like here, who or what I was fighting for.”

Finnick’s eyes roll slightly. “Yes, seems the ones from Two always take it the hardest once they adjust. Their mental image is the least accurate.”

“That’s not exactly our fault,” I parry. “We’re fed more bullshit than anyone.” My eyes track over to the latest victor from Two. She’s chucking spears alone, releasing unnecessarily loud grunts with each throw. “Poor Scar.”

Finnick leans in close and cocks his head, licking his lips. “Poor lots of us, honey. Your friend, she can handle herself.”

I nod intently. “She’ll survive.”

“For a few more days,” he snorts.

“No. She’s going to survive,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. “I’m protecting her too. And if you so much as look at her funny in there, I’ll gut you.” My eyes narrow as I lower my voice. “She's just as good a fighter as you. Whoever out there wants you alive, they may need you, but I don't.”

Finnick gives me a low whistle, looking me over once more. “I have underestimated you, Agent.”

“Yeah, I've been getting a lot of that lately.” Leaving him behind, I make my way to the spear throwing station. Scar doesn’t see me coming, apparently, startling slightly when I clap a hand on her shoulder. The sight of me makes her smile, once she catches her breath. “Good news. Katniss is open to the idea of an alliance.”

“‘Open to the idea’?” parrots Scar, sounding far from convinced.

“I’m still working on her,” I admit. I give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “If nothing else, she knows you're important to me and I'll kill her if she offs you.”

“No you won’t,” scoffs Scar.

Though my eyes drop sheepishly, I can’t help a small smile. “Not literally, no.”

“Thank you.” Scar steps into a hug, looping her arms around my neck. When she pulls back a moment later, she adds, “For everything.” It’s her turn to look sheepish. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Don’t be. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m fine,” she states firmly. “My time is not for sale as a tribute. That asshole can look all he wants.” She shrugs and grabs a new spear. “I just needed to feel sorry for myself for a while. But I'm done with that now.”

I stare up at her in awe. “You’re so much stronger than I ever realized.”

For a second, Scar looks genuinely moved. But she recovers quickly, pulling on a smirk. “Jeez, keep it in your pants.” As I grin back at her, she nods behind me. “Your girlfriend's coming.”

“Without me? How rude.” While she snickers and pitches her spear, I turn around and greet Katniss with a small nod. Don’t want to seem too happy to see her. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies with a very convincing level of disinterest. I’m almost insulted for a second until I remember she doesn’t know Scar knows about us. Looking over the top of my head, she says, “Scarlett.” That catches both of us by surprise. Scar slowly turns to her, looking rather perplexed. “I saw you in hand-to-hand yesterday. Pretty slick moves.”

Brow still furrowed, Scar exchanges an uneasy look with me. “Thank you?”

“Archery too,” continues Katniss. She cocks an eyebrow. “Not so much.”

Scar narrows her eyes. “Your point being?”

“I could give you some tips if you’ll show me how to disarm an attacker,” proposes Katniss. A smile threatens to burst onto my lips. She’s actually making an effort with Scar. “I’m not great at close combat.”

“You handled Clove all right,” counters Scar. From the enamored look creeping onto her face, it’s less of an argument than a compliment. I roll my eyes.

“Clove was tiny,” Katniss reminds her. When Scar doesn’t reply, she shrugs demonstratively. “It was just an offer.”

Scar smirks and places her latest spear back in the rack. “Well, I can’t really say no to archery lessons from Katniss Everdeen, can I? Lead the way.”

As Katniss starts toward the archery station, I catch Scar leering at her retreating form. Scowling, I cross my arms and step in front of her. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Scar raises her hands innocently, though her grin is anything but innocent. “I’m just looking.”

I tip my head, trying unsuccessfully to harshen my glare. “You’re a terrible friend.”

Turns out, Katniss’s offer to Scar may not be the olive branch I assumed. Apparently she’s taking Haymitch more seriously now, because she spends time with most of the victors over the next day and a half. The best part about this is it gives us a little wiggle room to hang out as well, without raising suspicion. And actually, not needing to avoid each other makes the whole thing marginally more bearable. It’s much easier to focus on the training rather than what is forbidden. It would be even easier if we could get away with more than a hand on a shoulder, but hey, it’s something.

After my private session with the Gamemakers on the third afternoon, I try to nap upstairs while I wait for Katniss to join me. But I’m too jacked up, so I go run laps around the roof instead. She’s still not in her room when I get back. It’s been at least a couple hours since I left the gym before I hear Peeta’s door open and close down the hall. I’m perched on the edge of the bed jiggling my foot when Katniss arrives maybe twenty minutes later, waltzing into the room with a spring in her step. “What was the hold up?”

“No clue. It was like forty minutes before they called me.” She wrinkles her nose. “It smelled like cleaner too. Whatever Peeta did, it was messy.”

“Maybe he jerked off for them,” I crack.

Katniss scoffs. “Please, like that would even take five minutes.”

My eyebrows fly up in shock and awe. “Vicious.”

“I learned from the best.”

Leaning back on my palms, I ask, “So what’d you do? Now that shooting at the Gamemakers is out of the question.”

Mischief gleaming in her eyes, Katniss says, “I hung Seneca Crane.”

“What?”

“I wrote his name on a dummy and hung it,” she grins. “Drew his facial hair, too. Quite the work of art.”

I squint up at her. “Why would you do that? He’s already dead.”

“Exactly.” At my clueless blink, she explains, “I just wanted them to feel vulnerable for a moment too. Remind them they’re not invincible.”

Cocking my head, I inquire, “And this helps keep Peeta alive how?”

“It doesn’t,” admits Katniss. “But if I have to keep playing the role in public, at least I can show them they don’t own me some in other way.”

My mouth twitches in sympathy. “Katniss, if you really want to tell people-”

“It’s not that,” she cuts in. Sitting down beside me, she elucidates, “I mean, kind of, but I have to mince words if I don’t want Snow to hurt the people I love back home. But everything in training is a secret, so it’s one of the few places I can say what I want to. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I get it.”

But I don’t get it, not really. Not until we gather for dinner and Peeta tells everyone that during his session he painted a picture of how Rue looked after Katniss covered her in flowers. I’m as puzzled as to his motives as I was about Katniss’s earlier until Haymitch presses him for one. “I'm not sure,” he admits. “I just wanted to hold them accountable, if only for a moment. For killing that little girl.”

Those words strike me as familiar. Katniss said something similar when she came home and I gave her shit for the funeral stunt. I was too busy chewing her out to give it much weight or thought at the time, but now I do. Katniss was making a statement. A statement that got several people killed, unfortunately, but she was doing something out of the ordinary on purpose, as a protest. And today Peeta and Katniss had even more to say to the Gamemakers. They have blood on their hands, and they are not safe.

Though the grown-ups say I’m the only one who behaved practically, it’s not something I’m proud of. The others made these bold rebellious statements, meanwhile the most rebellious thing I did was continue to crank out chin-ups after they dismissed me. I enjoyed the chance to piss them off with a little disobedience, but I had nothing to say. Nothing except that I’m a brat.

The eleven I’m awarded during the training scores broadcast makes me feel a little better, albeit briefly. I’m smiling until Peeta pulls a twelve, at which point I share a look of incredulity with him and Katniss. She also scores a twelve, making them the first district partners ever to both do so. Her score seems much less unreasonable but still leaves us shaking our heads. “Why did they do that?” asks Katniss.

“So that the others will have no choice but to target you,” says Haymitch flatly. “Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you.” As the three of us stand, Haymitch grabs hold of my sleeve and shakes his head. “Not you.” Watching Katniss disappear around the corner, I plop back down with a pout. Haymitch snaps his fingers in front of my face, demanding my attention. “I've spoken to your mentor and escort and explained you’re allying with my tributes, and they agreed to let you work with me and Effie tomorrow for your interview prep.”

I chuckle. “They couldn't wait to be rid of me, huh?”

“I’m far from overjoyed to take you on myself,” Haymitch says with an eye roll, “but necessity is a harsh taskmaster. I’ll make sure to be drunk before we start.”

“So will I,” I promise.

On my way back to the bedroom I wonder how they plan to divide their time between three tributes, but Katniss quickly distracts me and wipes that thought from my mind. It doesn't occur to me again until there's a knock on our door the next morning. We’ve been awake a little while, cuddling silently. I’m amusing myself drawing designs on Katniss’s belly with grazing fingertips, listening to the slow crescendo of her heartbeat the longer I go on. When the knock finally comes, Katniss’s ensuing sigh sounds as much like relief as anything else, which makes me smirk into her chest. “Girls, I hope you’re awake!” calls Effie brightly. “I have a delivery for Johanna!”

We exchange a surprised look. Katniss pulls the covers up into her armpits and props herself up on her elbows. “Come in!”

Effie sweeps into the room, carrying a garment bag in one hand and a pair of high-heeled shoes in the other. Taking in the scene, she clicks her tongue in disapproval. “I really thought you’d be dressed at this hour.” Holding up the bag, she says, “Johanna, I took the liberty of talking to your stylist, and I brought a similar cut for you to practice walking in.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, far from enthused. “More of the same as last year, huh?”

“No, my dear,” chirps Effie, her tone just a shade too sweet to be entirely genuine. “You’re free for the day. Haymitch and I agree that you and Peeta can handle yourselves adequately in public. You had plenty of practice on your tour. Johanna is in more need of coaching, so we’ll be devoting the day to her.”

My mood goes from offended to petulant in the blink of an eye. “The whole day?” I whine, face falling in protest.

“I certainly hope not. But we have lots to go over. The interview aside, I assume there will be much work to do on your stage presence.” Ignoring my insulted scoff, she runs her eyes over the length of the bag. “Thankfully the dress is too short to pose a tripping hazard, but I still need to teach you how to walk in high heels.”

“No you don’t,” I mutter.

Effie barely bothers to mask her irritation or incredulity as she replies, “I can assure you, Johanna, they will be part of your outfit. Especially at your stature.”

Katniss snorts and I give her a little side-eye before turning to Effie with a smug look. “I know that.”

Effie peers at me doubtfully. “Are you saying you already know how to walk in heels?”

“Of course I know how. I’m a fucking lady.” Tossing back the covers, I march straight up to Effie. Grinning at her scandalized expression, I take the shoes and slip them on. “Observe.” Turning on a dime, I strut across the room naked, light on my feet and head held high. The heels have got to be at least four inches tall, but I have no trouble keeping my balance.

When I glance at the bed, Katniss has a hand clamped over her mouth, holding something back. I can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a blush. Whipping around again, I strike a pose and muster my most obnoxiously chipper tone. “Why yes, Caesar. Thank you, Caesar. I love my outfit too. I’m absolutely delighted to be here. I like eating pussy.” That last line makes Katniss snort and she can’t hold back anymore, dissolving into wheezing cackles. My grin grows as I get a good look at her face. It’s a laugh _and_ a blush.

Effie is not amused. Eyes hard and jaw clenched, she snaps, “I’m glad you can find such humor in your probable impending demise.”

Head tipping inquisitively, I creep closer. “How else would you suggest I deal with it? I’m guessing you have a lot of experience with this. How many kids have you reaped, again?”

Effie’s expression darkens even further. “Put this on,” she demands, shoving the garment bag into my torso. The plastic exterior is cold on my bare skin, but I suppress a shiver out of pride. “Meet me and Haymitch in the TV room once you’re decent.”

Once the door slams behind Effie, I toss the dress on the bed and Katniss hops out from under the covers. Rounding the bed with a grin, she says, “Okay, that was amazing. Legendary.”

Running my eyes up her body, I meet her gaze with a sassy wink. “Even better than the elevator?”

“Much better. You were picking on someone else this time.” Her eyes change as she takes the last few steps, slowing to a crawl. “Plus the heels really make the look.”

My lips curl into a smirk. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm hm.” Katniss helps herself to another eyeful before closing the gap and laying her hands on my body, tipping her head up to kiss me. I can't help the tiny satisfied snicker that breaks our lips apart. “What?”

“You’re shorter.” Barely, but enough for my eyelashes to flutter against her eyebrows. Katniss squints out a playful glare and shuts me up with another kiss. Following her lead, I run my palms over her skin, down her sides and onto the small of her back. She deepens the kiss with an aroused hum and my right hand moves automatically, following the curve of her hipbone. It's maybe two inches from its destination when she intercepts it.

“Nuh uh,” she singsongs, prying it away. “The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can hang out. We’ll spend the whole rest of the day together, okay?”

Unable to argue with that logic, I sulk silently and finger the dog tags in her cleavage instead. I haven’t taken them off her again since she said that thing about always wearing them. Besides, it’s nice seeing them on her. A piece of me close to her heart, always. “You’re not gonna keep me company?”

“Please,” she scoffs. “You couldn’t pay me to sit through another one of their coaching sessions. Gonna go see what Peeta’s up to.”

She doesn’t abandon me right away, at least. After throwing on some clothes of her own, she helps me do up the dress. A shiver runs down my spine as she slowly pulls the zipper up its track, hands on my back and breath on my neck. It’s such a weirdly intimate and domestic thing to do, now that I think about it. We’ve never been on a fancy dinner date, but I imagine if we ever got to go on one, getting ready would feel something like this. I’m not sure we’d even make it out the door.

Effie and Haymitch are both scowling and drinking when I join them. Silently I snatch Haymitch’s bottle and tip it back. This drink is slightly less repulsive than the one he had the other day, and I manage to swallow it with barely a grimace. As I’m handing it back to him, Katniss peeks her head around the corner. “Hanna, we’re going up to the roof. Come join us when you’re done, okay?” It’s fucking gorgeous out. If she’s trying to make me jealous so I’ll speed up, it’s working. I give her a glum nod and she takes pity on me, entering the room long enough to give my lips a quick peck. Now with her shoes on she’s regained a slight height advantage, one more thing to make me grouchy. Still, the feel of her lips on mine is enough to procure a small smile. Smiling back, she pulls away with a casual, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I call after her. When she disappears and I turn back into the room, I find Haymitch and Effie staring at me. “What?”

As I suspected, the presentation part of my lesson goes by quickly and smoothly. I already know how to walk in a dress and heels, how to carry myself confidently without appearing hostile. Effie is very picky about how to place my hands and tuck my crossed ankles while sitting, but otherwise it’s a breeze. Within half an hour, Haymitch is gladly segueing into the content portion of our tutorial. “We need to decide on an angle for you. Based on your body language, I’m assuming you want to play it cocky or saucy.”

That was what I had always planned for my interview, but as I open my mouth to agree, it drops into a frown. “No. I want to be honest.”

Haymitch blinks. “Honest?”

“They're going to want my story. And I want to tell it. I think it's the only way I can get people to trust me.”

“We agreed we need to keep up the star-crossed lovers story,” Haymitch counters with a headshake.

“The fake one,” I huff, which earns me a glare. “No, I know. I mean where I came from and what I’ve been through, how I’ve changed.”

Haymitch leans closer, a subtle warning in his tone and posture. “You need to be careful, Johanna. You still have people out there you love.”

“And I can’t say anything blatantly inflammatory. I know.” I tip my head innocently. “Can anyone blame me for answering honestly and saying what I feel? That is the point of the interviews, after all.”

He shakes his head again, softer this time, lips pursing in a way that makes me wonder if he’s suppressing a smile. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

“Are you sure this is the wisest course of action, Johanna?” interjects Effie. “Your current story has sponsors lined up around the block.”

“Capitol sponsors,” I sneer. Her face hardens a bit and I add a cursory, “No offense.”

“District sponsorships are pocket change,” replies Effie. She cocks an eyebrow. “No offense.”

Screwing my eyes shut, I sigh in exasperation. “Look, to me this isn’t about getting sponsors. I want people to know who I am before I die.” While it admittedly has more to do with not wanting to jeopardize Katniss’s reputation by association in the arena, this is true too. Pointedly catching Haymitch’s gaze, I add, “It’s the same thing Katniss wants.”

Effie scoffs. “I think we can all agree this is about putting your best foot forward, not about who you are. If it was, Katniss would have scowled through her entire interview last year.”

“Let her do it,” says Haymitch, eyes still on me. “If Katniss is allied with a Career and rabid Capitol loyalist in the arena, it won’t sit right,” he expounds, giving his head a little dip. I get it. It won’t sit well with the rebels, in particular. He puts a slightly different spin on it for Effie as he turns her way. “It’ll confuse people.”

“Tributes make alliances based on need, not morality,” argues Effie.

“Not Katniss.”

“He’s right, Effie,” I tell her. Smirking at Haymitch, I add, “I gotta fit the narrative.”

“Exactly,” says Haymitch. Now he is wearing a small smile. For real. “Let’s get started.”

***

The day of the interviews turns out to be substantially more unpleasant than the coaching session. It's the same remake bullshit I had to deal with prior to the parade, thankfully minus the hair removal. I’m not exactly a patient person, and sitting or standing around while a flock of high-pitched idiots claw at my body and caw about its every flaw is not my idea of a good time. At least Katniss’s prep team provided me with a little amusement. They woke us up this morning with horrified gasps when they discovered us sleeping naked together, shocked and appalled that Katniss was “cheating on Peeta.”

My mood improves when my stylist shows up bearing not a tree, but a sleek black dress with a diamond-shaped boob window. “Damn, you came through,” I compliment her through a grin when I first lay eyes on it. The dress hugs my hips and falls halfway down my calves, a slit up one side rising almost up to my hip. I look both badass and sexy, my preferred aesthetic, and reward my aging stylist with a high five that seems to confuse her, but pleasantly so.

With an outfit appropriate to my personality, I find myself brimming with confidence as I scarf down some dinner while my stylist fusses with my hair. Contrary to what I’d expected based on Katniss’s stories from last year, the coaching session was quite productive. Not only are Haymitch and I confident in my intended approach, it rids me of the burden of guilt I felt after the private sessions about not doing my part. I went up to the roof feeling satisfied and even a little excited, and like I was finally worthy of Katniss and Peeta’s company.

The phone rings out in the living area, which barely registers thanks to the continued chatter of my prep team. I don’t think anything of it until I hear the receiver being slammed down onto its cradle and the quick footsteps of someone running to the TV room. It’s too loud in the bedroom for me to hear what’s on TV from my own quarters, but seconds later my mentor hollers, “Johanna! Johanna, you need to see this!”

The urgency in his tone attracts a large crowd, virtually everyone on the floor moseying over to see what the big deal is. Gasps fill the air and taller bodies block my view. Even in heels, I have to barge my way through before I spot the security footage onscreen and stop short. There I am, kissing Katniss behind the Hob. Backing her up against the wall and pinning her there with my body and my lips.

My ears are buzzing, but when the shot changes to one of Katniss rapping on my window, I finally tune in to the reporter’s narration. “Surveillance tapes show Miss Everdeen accessing the barracks via Agent Mason’s window upwards of seventy times beginning in February of last year. Footage from the Victor’s Village and nearby areas indicates Agent Mason moved in with her in late August and stayed until shortly before Mason’s platoon was reassigned following the Victory Tour.”

The reporter now appears onscreen, the stage in front of the Training Center as a backdrop. “A Peacekeeper assigned to the Justice Building in District 12 during last year's reaping attests that Mason visited Everdeen under the alias Hannah Taylor and declared herself to be Everdeen’s girlfriend. When Mason’s time was up, he claims, they had to be dragged apart their parting kisses were so passionate.”

“That’s a mild exaggeration,” I inform the rapt audience, blushing under my dark makeup.

“Things evidently haven't ended between the two of them in the wake of Miss Everdeen’s engagement to Peeta Mellark,” continues the reporter. “Anonymous sources inside the Training Center claim Agent Mason has been staying with the District 12 contingent, and security cameras at the facility caught this interaction yesterday.”

The broadcast switches to a shot of me and Katniss on the roof after Peeta left us early in the evening. I’m on top of her, kissing her hard. And doing other things hard. One of the blankets they’d dragged upstairs for a picnic is draped over us, but it’s very clear what’s going on beneath it. Very clear that Katniss has been sleeping with the enemy.

“Fuck. Haymitch is going to kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the last chapter for a bit, but hopefully not too long.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read.


End file.
